The Kansas City Shuffle
by NineTimesNamed
Summary: "He was unreal, like the photos of food on the menu, instead of what you see on the plate." Raz is a con woman; someone who travels while fooling people out of their money. Life seems simple, until she makes the age-old mistake of underestimating the Winchesters. Then she tries to trick a trickster. To be fair, he wouldn't stop stealing her french fries.
1. Give 'Em The Old Razzle Dazzle

**A/N: Help me, I think I've caught the fanfiction writing bug. I'm doomed.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Supernatural, I just own my words.**

* * *

 **Prologue: Step 1- Let them know they're being conned**

* * *

True trickery lies not in fooling others, but in fooling ourselves. And Loki was the god of trickery- the king of fools. People very rarely took the time to consider what that meant; if they had, perhaps they would have wondered a great deal about what lie Loki was hiding under that smiling mask of his. Perhaps none of this would have ever happened.

There are many tools in a con man's toolbox. Weapons of misdirection, not mass destruction. A con man has his face- and that's his first weapon. Earnest eye contact, smiles, and winks are his bread and butter. Of course, lies and deceit come second. Lies are what make a con man different from everyone else. He lies to other people, about the stupid stuff. A woman or a man cheated out of their money by the con man might disagree- they'd say "My earnings aren't stupid stuff!". But then they go home and lie to each other or themselves about the important stuff. About love, or family, about how they feel. A con man has no time for these lies, his life being filled with quite enough already.

Which brings us to the final weapon a con man uses.

The truth.

The simple truth is usually the punch line, the final stretch. You wrap someone in a web of deceit, and then you lock them in with the padlock of truth- something they cannot refute. If they accept that one truth from your lips, then they'll accept anything else that flows forth.

So, in a way, grifters are the most honest folks you'll ever find.

By that logic, I'll never tell you a lie. Would I do you wrong? You just sit back and let good ol' Raz tell you a dazzling tale- rest assured that everything happened exactly as I tell it.

* * *

The roar of death was indescribable.

It's all encompassing, it's all there is.

In this case, it was a train rushing by.

Almost every creature on this planet is lucky enough to be born, and end their lives in death. They cannot even remember the moment they came to be; that is how all birthings go.

Not this creature. First came death, and death was the first thing it remembered.

A broken, battered, and undeniably dead human form lay tangled by the train tracks. Miles of silence in all directions.

We see trains as chugging inconveniences that sometimes stop us on our way to work- we frequently forget that this is not the life of a train.

Trains live in the vast stretches between cities. The in-between places. There was nothing but trees on all sides, for miles.

The wretch was leaving death, edging into life, dragged like a secret into the light.

An in-between place.

Life is precious, life is colorful. Life is loving and hating and breathing.

Life is pain. This is the first thing the not-dead creature was to learn.

A wailing cry pierced the night, echoing along the green corridor the train had carved out for itself. It wasn't a cry of birth, but it was a cry of life. The sweet anguish of living.

A limb, shiny with rapidly drying blood, tried to move, and the twitching form took a brief, gurgling breath. Everything stilled once more.

Throughout the night, it died repeatedly- and was dragged back again and again by some grim, immutable force. This was not immortality, this was not life. This was an inability to leave the twilight between peace and pain.

But somewhere through the macabre spectacle of birthing and dying, the creature took shape.

The morning light revealed a being that was now mostly human- if something so blessed and so cursed with life could be called "human".

Consciousness was a mixed package- now it- she- was aware of the agony that had marked her entrance into the world. It made her aware of the sticky feeling of blood soaked clothes. Her new eyes and the sun teamed up against her to reveal her broken body- not nearly so broken as when this awful cycle started, but not healed enough.

She watched in grim fascination as a jagged spur of bone slowly crawled back into her arm, and flesh knitted over, leaving a pale, if bloodstained whole. It still looked so tiny and delicate- like a bone itself.

She lifted her remade hand to her stomach, where the worst of the damage was.

Before she could really come to terms with the fact that she was impaled on a piece of steel rebar, she was dead again.

The next time she came bubbling to the surface, she had decided to live. It seemed like she had no other choice. So with newfound resolve, she began the gruesome task of yanking the steel from her gut, inch by painful inch.

Inch by painful inch, she died into life.

When she could finally stand, living, whole, days had passed. She had been a human shaped animal for most of this time, but now a person was taking form. Her face, which had been mechanically blank when not contorted by pain, now showed signs of the personality developing beneath. Her small, thin mouth seemed ready to twitch into a sardonic smile- her green eyes seemed to take in the world around her with a cynical air.

The thing had started human, but now she was becoming a person. The human had been a thing of pain and instinct- the person found herself to be calculating, curious.

She took in her surroundings, then looked down at herself, assessing, itemizing.

She stared at her hand without recognition. It was small, and smooth. Not used for work then. Using her hand, she grabbed a fistful of hair to bring before her face. It was short, shoulder length. It stuck out of her hand like a clump of tentacles caught mid-writhe. She crinkled her nose- it was plain, brownish-blonde color. Boring.

"My name."

It was like a death rattle, but backwards. A birth rattle, perhaps. She croaked again, this time confused.

"My name?"

* * *

But that's not the story I wanted to tell. That part is an ugly truth. The story I want to tell has to do with what happened next.

* * *

It started, as the best lies do, with a dramatic bang- a loud bang. It started with a crash.

A 1967 Chevrolet Impala weighs around 3,500 pounds; unlike modern cars it is not made out of fibreglass, but is instead all metal. All this means nothing when it is at rest, but when it is moving, even a little, this means very much. The equation for force involves three integers- mass, momentum, and acceleration. When you plug the mass of an Impala from the sixties in there, you can easily get up to over 30,000 Newtons of force. It only takes 4,000 Newtons to break a human femur- the hardest bone to break.

Solve this word problem and you will get extra credit on tomorrow's test:

At around 45 mph, on a Sunday in the middle of winter, a 3,500 pound Chevy Impala crashes into a girl who was crossing the street at around 2 mph.

What happens next?

A bang, and then a crunch, and all too soon I have landed on my back, gasping for air. I can feel that both my femurs have fractured in multiple places- but the pain hasn't hit me yet. It may never hit- shock is great like that. It will take me a moment before I can get up and walk. Two car doors slam and two pairs of footsteps are running towards me. The shock is wearing off, and I allow myself to start crying out in pain. My voice is weak and wheezy. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me that I have three snapped ribs, one of which has pierced a lung. I lay it on nice and thick-

"Help! Help me!"

"Oh my god, Dean, what did you do?" Came one panicked voice from far above me, too far, it seemed. An equally terrified voice responded to him, all gravel and leather.

"I dunno man, she came out of nowhere!"

"This is bad Dean, we were going fast enough to kill a full grown man. This girl is tiny!"

The pain and the shock had worn off, dissipated, never to return. I was annoyed at the comment about my height, but in a distant way. You grow up with it enough, and it stops getting to you, really- but I could tell from how far away the voice was that the speaker was tall. Stupid tallies.

"Ugh." I whimpered "Can someone help me up?"

There was a long pause, and I started to crack my eyes open. Two blurred figures stood above me, frozen.

"What are you?" Well, that was unexpected- these people just hit me with their car, and now the short one sounded like he wanted to kill me! Not the usual reaction I got from car crashes. I frowned and tried to move, but everything was still broken. My body convulsed in pain.

"Dean, she looks like she's just a girl. Look at how her legs are lying- they're broken Dean. This isn't the time! Call Cas!"

"Please!" I coughed, not knowing who Cas was. "Please, call an ambulance first!" I gripped the taller- gentler- one's pant leg.

When the ambulance arrived, I already felt better. The ambulance drivers were well-payed to stay quiet about my frequent visits. The tall one- Sam, had covered me in a ratty old blanket from their ridiculous death trap. The short one with the gravelly voice had given me once over- a flash of green- then wandered off to lean against his car. Not a word left his mouth, but from Sam's mouth spewed all kinds of reassurances. If I had been anyone else, they would have meant nothing, not to the pain, not to the injury- but it was me, and I heard them. Just because I wasn't hurt didn't mean they weren't nice things to say. I didn't hear nice things often.

They followed behind the ambulance once the EMT crew had loaded me up. One of them rolled their eyes when our marks weren't looking. It was nearly time to leave for a new town, this crew was clearly getting sick of the same old shtick. Bored people ask quqestions, questions I couldn't afford to answer.

About three hours later I was in a hospital bed, talking tearfully to one Doctor Jim Bones. Casts enveloped both of my legs, and my ribs were bound. Small as I was, I made a pitiful sight.

Jim Bones wasn't really his name, I just call him that. His real name was Jim Sartre. But I'd been a Star Trek fan for as long as I could remember- which admittedly was not very long.

Jim was shaking his head and clucking his tongue, and shooting glares at Dean- the driver who'd hit me with his car.

"This will cost a lot of money to fix, Miss...?" He trailed off, as though searching for my last name. He knew, of course, just as he knew he'd be getting a cut of whatever these boys paid to help with my 'medical bills'.

"Just Raz. Like the berry."

It was the first thing I ate, don't judge.

Bones pretended to cluck his tongue disapprovingly at my lack of last name.

"Well, your injuries were extensive, and your bill is going to be... quite large. I'd like to talk to you about setting up a payment plan..."

My eyes widened- it was time for the real show to start. I wheezed in 'panic'.

"I don't have any money! I can't pay this bill!"

I hammed it up- gotta milk the crowd for what they're worth. After a long pause, Bones sighed, maybe a little at my over acting, but mostly for show.

"Well, it is our duty of care to fix you up... " He pretended to squint at my chart for my name, like he'd forgotten it already. "Raz. But this will go on your credit rating- it will severely impact your ability to find a home or a job." He gave me a critical, practiced once-over- taking in my ragged clothes and dirty hair. "Of course, I imagine that won't be a concern." I gave him my own practiced glare.

"Don't look down on me like that! I'm going to turn my life around one day and pay this bill, and I WILL have a home!" Bones scoffed and was about to continue our little charade- plucky young street urchin vs. Big Mean Doctor, part 2- before Sam- the tall one- spoke up.

"We can help pay the bill. I don't think we can pay for all of it, but we have some cash. Something to lessen the cost, at least." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and looked to his brother, who was staring at both my leg casts intently. The guilty ones always had that look. After a moment he shrugged and nodded curtly. Clearly the go-ahead to get the money. Sam spared me one last pitying look before leaving for their car. I guess that's where they kept their cash. They looked like the kind of dudes who used cash.

Dean was still staring at my casts. It was a weird stare, like the way a bird of prey looks at a mouse. I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn't the guilty sort of stare. He looked more constipated than ashamed, truth be told. I shot a panicked glance at Bones but he didn't notice, too pleased to be getting some cash, no doubt. He pretended to look at his watch.

"Excuse me." He said, and my stomach dropped. "I have a patient waiting in the other room."

And then he was gone. The room was quiet for a moment, as Dean and I stared each other down. Well, I stared him down, while he stared holes into my casts. I tried to break the ice.

"Thanks for helping, man." He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving my legs. He stayed quiet, but moved from the wall to the chair by my bed. I finally made eye contact with him. His eyes were surprisingly hard for a face that pretty.

"I've been in a lot of casts, you know." His voice, something I hadn't heard since the car crash, startled me. It was gravelly, and rough. It was stern, too.

"Oh?" I stuttered, wondering where he was going with this.  
"Yeah. It's my job, you see." He smiled now, but it didn't seem so friendly. It seemed threatening. I felt scared.

"What's your job? Are you a cop?" I asked, suddenly suspicious. That earned me a genuine chuckle, and he shook his head.

"Sorta. I hunt bad things down."

"A bounty hunter, then?" I tried. Another chuckle, another shake of the head.

"I hunt."

After that he fell silent, watching me, looking for some sign of recognition, maybe. It was weird. Unconsciously, I shifted in my bed before trying to break the silence. I felt like a kid who'd been called to the teacher's desk. I felt like I was in trouble, and I didn't know why- he said he wasn't a cop, but he sure made me feel guilty like one!

"What do you hunt?" I asked in a small voice- it came naturally, now. Another pause, while his eyes searched my face, then, suddenly, he put his hand on my cast and squeezed. The thin film of plaster easily broke- Bones had long ago said he would not waste actual plaster on someone who wasn't going to stay hurt long enough to need it.

"I hunt monsters."


	2. A Spoonful of Truth

Step 2: A spoonful of truth helps the mischief go down.

* * *

 _This time, she died a 16 year old, during the 1970s. It was Vietnam, the war, the country. Her village as she remembered it was gone. They had been poor, but they didn't know it. Poverty is seeing how much others have in comparison to you, and everyone in their village had the same. They hunted the same food, sang the same songs, and sank their feet into the same dirt. That same dirt was stained with so much blood before it all ended. The village women wailed for days after watching the remaining men disappear into the forest. Who was to protect them while everyone killed and killed and killed? Who would stop the rapes? The bombings?_

 _They barely knew what they were doing when they started the ritual. Their grandmother's grandmothers had not practiced it, only spoke. They knew the motions and the words with the memory of generations that had lived and died on the same land since as far back as anyone could remember-and that it summoned a_ _yêu quái- a demon. It would give them the power they needed._

 _What it would take was one child._

 _And that had been her. She'd gone quietly, staring into her mother's eyes. The chanting, chanting, chanting, drowning out the tears, the pain, the blood. And then nothing._

 _Her last memory was of the earth rising up to meet her as she fell._

* * *

Up until this point, I hadn't done a lot of thinking life through. I didn't have much memory from before- I knew I'd been normal, that I'd lived somewhere up north. I knew that I'd been educated, because I knew that I was smarter than most of the people I met- but I didn't _remember_. It was like that whole part of my life was covered in water up until one year ago- there were memories, but they bled into one another, and were blurred. It felt like drowning when I tried to find it. Pieces would float up from the bottom of my mind like furniture after a flood- the crinkle at the corner of my mother's eye, the windows of my house- piano lessons... nothing story-shaped.

But it didn't bother me- I didn't remember what I was missing, so it was ok.

I realized I couldn't die around the same time I 'woke up' in Pennsylvania. I had been train hopping- a pastime of the American homeless since the early days of the rail road. You jump on a train after it's taken off, and hope the 'bulls'(private security, hired by the train company) don't catch you. I must have fallen off, because everything was broken and bleeding. At first the new consciousness that was 'me' waited in horror for my life to end, and then watched in awe and horror as everything grew back as though nothing had happened. It had taken two days, back then. Now it takes only minutes.

I knew there were things that go 'bump' in the night- homeless people were their main hunting stock. I'd lost a lot of friends to various horrific monsters. I had no words for the creatures I saw, but I knew they existed.

I even knew that there were hunters, who protected normal people from the night-crawlers whenever they were dumb enough to kill someone who would get noticed. But never when it was the bums of the world. I didn't think much of hunters.

But the one thing that had never crossed my mind was that maybe _I_ was in fact one of those things that needed to be hunted.

Staring into the angry eyes of one Dean Winchester made it easy for that thought to become a reality. I didn't know if I even _could_ die, but a Hunter (capital 'H') was the most likely candidate for finding out how.

"Ow!" I complained, kicking my leg to get his hand off. "Stop squeezing! It stings."

The hunter did a little smirk, and tightened his grip. What a _bully_!

"Like hell missy, now what are you and what do you want with us?"

For a moment I was flabbergasted enough to stop kicking my leg. But not for long, I got back to wiggling and trying to get away from him while running my mouth. "What, besides your _money_?" I scoffed. "Oh, you know, just your eternal fucking soul." He didn't look amused. I could tell by the way he now had a knife in his other hand.

Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air. "God, you have _no_ sense of humor."

It was that moment that Sam chose to come back in with a duffle bag.

"Dean, _what_ are you doing!?" If one of them didn't have a knife in his hands, I'd have laughed at how much the tall one sounded like a mother. It was something about the 'oh no, little Timmy has drawn a knife on the other kids _again_ ' in his voice that told me that this wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

"Obviously trying to cut my hair, duh!" I spat, reaching over to pinch Dean's arm as hard as I could.

"Ow!" He growled, and swiped at me with the knife. Woah. I drew my arms back and put them up in a universal gesture of surrender. The cut he'd given me barely had time to bleed before it was gone. Dean gave Sam a look that apparently screamed 'Dude this bitch is a monster, draw your gun!'. I know that's what the look said, because Sam immediately dropped the bag and _pulled a freaking gun from his pants_. These guys did _not_ play nice. And might have developed facial sign language.

"Dean, what is she?" His voice had changed from 'Momma bear' to 'dark and stormy' in zero seconds flat.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, my mouth continued to run. You know why Deadpool is such an asshole? Because he _gets_ to be. He won't stay dead long enough for it to shut him up.

"So you _weren't_ happy to see me after all." I snarked, indicating the gun in his pants- his adams apple bobbed but he all he did was adjust his grip. I guess they were used to having people fuck with them. Dean started to speak, so I turned my gaze to him.

"What happened to the poor little hobo act? Dropped it now that we know you're a monster?"

"I'm _not_ a monster, I just don't die very easily." I shrugged now, putting down my hands. It was clear that they had no idea how to proceed with the plot when something wasn't trying to brutally eviscerate them. Clearly Dean had expected me to lash out as soon as he 'unmasked' me, and was running out of reasons to kill me, now that I wasn't. Sam was already lowering his gun.

Seeing that I now had the floor, I allowed my greatest tool- my mouth- to take command.

"I was telling the truth- all I wanted as your money, dude. I'm a con man. Well, woman. I get hit, you pay money, and we all walk away feeling a little better- you didn't kill someone, and I don't have to eat trash. The doctor and I are in cahoots."

* * *

Maybe it was the word 'cahoots'. Maybe it was that for once the supernatural world didn't want to gruesomely murder them. Maybe it was just because they still felt a little guilty about hitting me with such a big car- but about an hour later and I was sitting in the Winchester's hotel room.

What can I say, I move fast with the opposite sex. They even had me in handcuffs. _Sexy_ , right?

What _wasn't_ sexy was the old guy Sam had on the phone, or the fact that they'd poked and prodded me with about every mythologically significant substance that they had in that infernal car's trunk. Sam seemed a lot nicer about the whole 'I'm a person who doesn't die' thing. Dean seemed like he thought the whole world existed in either the 'gank' or the 'no-gank' zone, and I rested firmly in the 'gank' zone.

I must have been his worst nightmare. Night of the Ungankable Hoes.

"Okay Bobby, thanks. Give me a call when you figure something out." Sam hung up with a click and sighed. "He's got nothin', but he said he'd check out the lore."

" _So_? Let's just find a way to kill it and get out of here, who _cares_ what it is?"

"Uh, hello? ' _It'_ is right here, and would like a glass of water. Also, my name is Raz. I'm not Stephen King's clown."

Dean shot me a venomous glare, but Sam just sighed.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the handcuffs, but we have to make sure you're not a threat. You have to understand- we have not encountered somethi-" He cleared his throat and corrected himself. "Some ** _one_** that doesn't have it out for us, like… ever" I rolled my eyes at this. With looks like that and trust issues that deep, they _definitely_ had 'daddy issues'. The paranoid hot ones _always_ have daddy issues.

"Well, I've never killed anyone, and I don't plan on it. I don't thirst for blood, human hearts, or any other human bits. Except occasionally dick."

Finally, I got a snort out of Dean, and a glare out of Sam.

"Okay." Grunted Dean, seemingly jarred out of his broody-ragefest by my unnecessary amount of honesty. He slammed the knife on the table, and leaned back. "So what are you? We already tested you with silver, holy water, iron… everything. We've never encountered your kind before."

It was my time to snort. "I don't think I have a 'kind'. I think I might be a mutant. Like in X-Men."

"Seriously." Sam said, his face caught between disapproval at my crude humor and what looked like a secret nerdy joy at my sick references. I smirked to myself. Everyone loves my sick references.

"Seriously." I repeated back, keeping my face open and my tone honest. I let myself look suddenly concerned. "But…"

Dean and Sam leaned in- here it was, this was the catch in my innocent (well, relatively innocent) act. "But?" Dean prodded, eyes serious.

"Well…" I shifted, glancing nervously between them. "Sometimes… once a month… This… thing happens." Sam looked deadly serious, like he was getting ready to take notes for future hunts. "Well, I get this sudden pain… and then I will wake up in the middle of the night." My voice got quieter, they leaned in further. "I get this need… for… for…!" I trailed off, a tear slipping from my eye. It was too horrible. I couldn't tell them- they'd think differently of me. They'd hate me!

"For what, Raz?" Asked Dean, gentler.

"For tampons!"

After much cackling on my part, shouting on Dean's, and sighing on Sam's part, they let me out of the handcuffs, having determined that the only thing I was a threat to were gullible people's cash. And Sam's tender sensibilities. They clearly didn't like me, and I thought they were absolutely zero fun, but we had come to an understanding- I stopped conning people with my super powers, and they didn't try and gank me with their ridiculously huge arsenal. They were two dysfunctional brothers with an assload of weapons... I'd agree to anything they said!

"But why do you care if I'm conning people?"

Sam huffed, clearly getting sick of my whiny tone.

"Because normal people can't defend against it."

I thought about this for a moment.

"I think I get it. What you're saying is that because there is no way of defending against the supernatural, it's not fair for those with extra abilities to use them on people."

Sam tried not to look surprised by my thoughtful response, and failed. I in turn endeavored not to feel insulted.

"Actually… yeah."

My thoughtful face disappeared and I grinned.

"Okay! But…." And here I genuinely frowned. "What am I supposed to do?"

Dean, who was packing up his bag of weapons, looked over and scowled.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… I'm homeless, that much was not a con. And I have no memory, or records of who I am."

Sam and Dean were both silent, clearly thinking something along the lines of ' _that's not our problem, we kill things'_. After a long pause, Sam shifted in his seat at the table, and cleared his throat.

"Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

I'd never really thought about it before. Having fun and scamming idiots was great, but I'd always known it wasn't forever. I just hadn't planned out what came next- for a long time, I'd had very little thoughts whatsoever. Since 'waking up', more and more complicated ones had been coming. Philosophical questions, scientific musings, things that seemed like scraps of my previous life- facts I never remembered learning. Two months ago I had woken up with a perfect understanding of the way a black hole functioned, as though that would be useful on the road. I thought for a moment about what a normal person's life looked like.

"Er... " It was my turn to look unsure. "How old do I look to you?"

Another shared look between the brothers- that kind of question fell under the same category as 'do I look fat in these jeans?', as in 'avoid answering at all costs'. Still, Sam took the bait. Sam is a daring man.

"Around 27?" He ventured. I nodded; my guess was around that too. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. I sighed; what I said next was a surprise to both Sam and I (Dean, impatient with the 'girl stuff', had gone to pack up his evil car).

"If I have to stop swindling people altogether, then I need a job." Sam nodded his head, clearly agreeing with the logic of this. "To get an interesting job, I need to go to college…. I guess I want to go to college?"

I know what you're thinking, guys.

Raz + College? Psh, _that'll last._

Well, fuck you, and you're right.


	3. They Look Left, You Go Right

It would be nice to say that in going to college, I gave up cheating people.

It would be nice, but it wouldn't be true.

That's the thing people don't understand about the word 'nice'. What if to do the right thing, you have to hurt someone's feelings? What if to save a million people, you had to kill your brother? Hurting people's feelings or killing your kin isn't 'nice' in that situation, but it is 'good'. You can't be a good person and a nice person all the time, you have to choose.

It would be nice to say I didn't lie, cheat, and forge my way into school, but I did.

It would be great to say that despite my lost memory and seemingly high intelligence, I was immediately great at school, but I wasn't. I failed out of one college and had to leave another due to bad behavior before I got the hang of things. It was Sam who finally explained to me that I wasn't going to get by on just being intelligent. College wasn't about being smart- it was about playing the game. You presented yourself well, obeyed the rules, and practiced hard. Sure, being smart helped, but working hard helped more.

That is how I ended up here, in Athens, Ohio, of all places. The ever-clever band Electric Six (Well known for such smash hits as "Gay Bar" and "Dance Commander") said of Ohio thusly:

"Except for GBV and Devo, nothing seems to redeem Ohio."

Classy though they may be, they are absolutely wrong.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, redeems Ohio.

The only way I've survived this far is by learning. Since I met Sam and Dean, I threw everything into absorbing the world around me. I spent so much time reading and watching and learning that when I went to sleep at night it felt like knowledge was leaking from my ears. Politics, sciences, sociology and behavioralism were just the tip of the iceberg- they were the world everyone else dealt with. But I knew it wasn't all there was; there was also the supernatural world. It was the internet and older books on 'mythology' that helped me there. My professors at University of Ohio were always jolting me awake- daytime classes weren't enough- there were free classes online to take, podcasts to listen to, ancient textbooks to study. Pretty soon, I'd finished two years worth of school in only a year and a half.

I had managed to finagle enough cash together from my swindling days to get a small studio apartment in the more shady area of town, and had used Sam and Dean's contact 'Bobby' to forge false credentials for school, work, and everything else. I hadn't bothered with much more than a good mattress, an internet connection, and a kitchen I could bake in, but since I hardly used the mattress anyway, it was enough.

School was… strange. I didn't make very many friends. A lot of people thought I was mean; I wasn't trying to hurt people's feelings, but I also had no idea what was socially acceptable. My jokes frequently were impolite, or pointed out things that it was unkind to point out. Mostly I was left alone- it's not like everyone who is weird gets bullied. Life isn't black or white like that. A lot of weird people just get ignored, because nobody knows how to speak to them, or what about.

Even my teachers were slightly unnerved by me- they said I asked too many questions, and listened too hard. I had puzzled over the idea of 'listening too hard' and 'asking too many questions' for a while, but then I realized that what they'd truly meant was 'pays attention to our mistakes'. People were weird sometimes, but it didn't bother me.

Everyone makes mistakes.

But people also appreciated me, even if they didn't know it. When the school's favorite statue was painted to look like a clown, I smiled quietly to myself as people 'oohed' and 'aahed'. When 10 L of pure liquid nitrogen went missing from a chemistry lab, and then the school's large swimming pool became a skating rink overnight, I filmed everyone slipping and sliding and laughed. I couldn't swindle people any more, or con them, so I had to get my kicks somehow! Nobody ever really suspected me, mainly because I seemed very serious and studious.

I guess they forgot that most people who are seriously studious also have some kind of addiction to Ritalin or Adderall. I just had an addiction to lying and fun.

The only people who I found common ground with were the ones nobody else really bothered with. The kitchen staff were all on a first name basis with me, and the janitorial staff frequently sat with me at lunch. It's amazing what a simple "Hello how was your day" can do- on my 'birthday' (January 4th- the day Sam and Dean found me) I got extra dessert, and an older guy, Stu, gave me the key to the school. When I tried to thank him for it, all he did was wink, and grin. Stu was weird- he had come to school about a year after I did, and rarely said anything, but he seemed to find my jokes funny, at least.

But I'd also lost a friend- About one week before my first year ended, Sam's calls stopped coming in. He'd been checking in on me periodically- telling me about hunts and stuff. He had seemed genuinely interested in how college life was turning out for me- I guess he missed going to school. Sometimes he'd give me study tips and ways to charm professors. A lot of the time, he dodged questions about the supernatural; I think partially because he wanted to have normal conversations, and partly because he sensed an eagerness in me that he didn't like. He probably didn't want me to get mixed up in it all, like he had. Last time he'd spoken to me, he said that they'd found their father, and this gun that could help them. He didn't say what was so special about the gun, but I hoped that his radio silence meant they had done what they set out to do.

"Once you become part of the Life" He said it like it had a capital 'L' "You can't ever leave. You can try and follow a normal life again, but it catches up to you." His voice sounded so sad. "It always does."

I guess he never quite picked up on the fact that I didn't just get 'mixed up' in trouble. I was the trouble!

Remember this, kids- there is always someone who is better than you at what you do best. If you're smart- one day you'll run into someone smarter. If you're funny, well, the next Louis C.K. lives just down the block.

I was trouble, and I was about to meet Trouble. This guy earned his capital 'T'.

It was a few weeks before finals, and I had taken the tampon dispenser from the women's restroom and was carefully installing it in the men's.

It's the subtle psychological manipulation that really gets them.

But as I was stealthily screwing the metal box into place, I heard something strange. A wet, slapping noise. I got that hot-cold feeling when something makes you anxious out of the blue. My heart pounded; the guys on the cleaning staff told me that this building was not on tonight's cleaning schedule until 3 am, so I should have been alone. By all rights I shouldn't have been bothered by that, if only Marco from the morning shift hadn't also told me that this building was _haunted._

'Slosh, _SLAP'_

I shouldn't have been afraid, I really shouldn't have. So far, nothing had been able to kill me- but I guess a person's instincts are harder to get rid of with just a couple years of immortality. I tried to calm my heart down. I told myself it was because I was afraid of getting in trouble.

'Slosh, **_SLAP_**!'

I poked my head out the men's bathroom and looked to my left. In the low light of the hallway, someone was mopping. It was too dim to see their face, but I could see enough of them to realize they weren't someone I knew. I waited till the shadowy figure had his back turned to dip his mop in the bucket.

'Slosh'

The entrance to the hallway was right across from the men's bathroom. I ran for it. As I reached the corner, the men's bathroom door shut quietly behind me, but it was loud enough.

"Hey!" I heard someone say, not in an unfriendly tone. I didn't care- I couldn't afford to get kicked out of another college. I went to the door and scrambled for my skeleton key- slipping it in and twisting the handle right as the sound of footsteps began to near the corner. I didn't look back.

It was only till I'd made it home to my apartment that I allowed myself to slow down and think. The fear I'd managed to leave behind in Crawford Hall caught back up to me.

School keys were generally carried by security, who left the building unlocked for cleaning staff, then locked it behind them when they left. Cleaning staff rarely carried keys.

So.

If I had to use my key to get out, then how did the 'janitor' get in?


	4. Maybe The Universe Is A Practical Joke

It was after my run in with the ghost of Crawford Hall that shit really started to get weird. Strangeness was a way of creeping up on you, inch by inch, without you noticing. Then one day you wake up and you're in Wonderland. That's how this mickey-mouse bullshit started.

When I first noticed that things were going wrong, my first instinct was to call Sam and Dean, but I decided not to. Sam kept acting like I couldn't deal with the supernatural world, even though I _was_ supernatural! I decided then and there that I could take on whatever was causing all this chaos- after all, nothing could kill me, anyway! All of this was before people started dying.

At first, the 'incidents' were blamed on 'the group of students' who had been playing practical jokes around campus- except, of course, you and I know that it couldn't have been them, because they were me! None the less, whoever it was seemed to have my sense of humor; the first incident happened during pledge week. Pledge week is a time of great horror for many freshman- it's the time when you choose your respective fraternities and sororities.

To prove yourself to your new brothers and sisters, you generally had to humiliate yourself in various ways. A lot of the time it went too far, and people were hurt, or shunned for refusing to do something. The Stanford Experiment has got nothing on pledge week. Usually these Herculean tasks of terror involve a lot of alcohol and masculinity, which is why everyone found it hilarious when all the alcohol in every house got switched with vinegar, and the frat boys' clothes magically became dresses. We all wondered how these pranksters had pulled it off, but nobody was concerned, not even me. People were calling it the 'Revenge of the Freshmen'. It had been funny.

The next few incidents followed this pattern- amusing pranks pulled on groups or individuals who nobody felt particularly sorry for; a teacher known for being creepy to his female students had itching powder slipped into his pants- the powder was so effective he was out of school for a week. I guess he thought he had crabs. A particularly cruel sorority sister came to school as fat as a pumpkin- something about her diet pills getting switched around. It later came out that she's been bullying other girls about their body image.

But it finally escalated, and in a weird way. A local emergency room doctor was found dead in his office; the doors were all locked and he had drowned. In liquid morphine. So that was odd. It later came out that the morphine he'd drowned in was his own; he'd been stealing it from terminally ill patients. I guess he thought that if they were dying anyway, they didn't need the pain relief. Still, my heart twisted when I saw his family mourning. Was there someone out there, mourning me? For once, I wish I remembered.

"He got what he deserved." Said Stu, a twinkle in his eye- he generally worked the night shift, and like anyone who works long hours while the rest of the world sleeps, he rarely spoke. Still, he seemed kind, and despite his old age (dude was like 70), he enjoyed my mischief as much as the rest of our odd crew. Everyone around us at the lunch table made noises of agreement at his proclamation, but I frowned.

"Nobody 'deserves' anything. He got what we all get."

I don't think I'd ever had a conversation with Stu before, he was usually the odd one out at our table, but now I found myself fixed in his gaze. Before he could, speak, though, Marco piped in, and my attention was on him.

"Problem, kiddo?" I shook my head and frowned.

"This was a murder, but everyone keeps talking about it like it was karma. Someone killed this person. In a horrific way."

Stu interjected then, visibly agitated.

"And he watched who knows how many people _die_ , in pain, when he could do something about it." I sighed at this, and nodded.

"Yeah, he did. I just don't think looking at it like he deserved it is the right way to go about things. Don't you think it's weird that people are all of a sudden 'getting what they deserve'?"

Stu shrugged glancing to the side like a petulant child, but Marco spoke up.

"Wait a sec… you think the people pranking those stuck up kids and the person who killed the surgeon are related?" I nodded my head. "But I thought you liked those pranks! These people are right up your alley!"

I sighed. "I _did_ like them, and they _were_ funny, but now I think they're not pranking people. They're… getting justice"

Stu seemed to straighten up at the word 'justice'. I turned my gaze to him. He was watching my closely, on odd tilt to his head.

"Why is it wrong?" He seemed genuinely curious, his old hazel eyes fixed on me, waiting for an answer. I realized I didn't have an immediate reply. Something about this whole thing was just… off.

"Well…" I frowned. "It's not making anything better."

Stu seemed to lose his patience at this.

"What do you mean, 'not making anything better'? A bad guy is dead, and those kids are going to think twice before bullying someone again!"

Now my philosophy classes were starting to kick in. I didn't notice the bell going off and everyone else leaving our table. I barely even registered Marco saying his goodbyes- I was too caught up in our debate. Things like his always got me going.

" _Are_ they?" Stu stilled, and looked at me hard. He didn't say anything, as though he knew what came next. "And if they _did_ think twice, is it really because they're _better people_? Making people afraid of punishment isn't the same thing as teaching them what the right thing to do is, Stu."

There was no reply, Stu seemed engrossed in glaring at a tear on his jumpsuit sleeve. He picked at it with one hand, his strange eyes narrowed like it held all the answers. I sighed, realizing I'd gone too far in the debate. I hadn't been trying to make him feel stupid, I had simply been trying to… I shook my head, and stood.

"Sorry Stu, I didn't mean for that to get so heated. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

I had already turned my back and started walking out when he replied.

"Sure thing, sugar. I'll be seeing you soon."

But I was already gone.

* * *

Here's the second question in today's test.

If a 5'7" girl, approximately age 26, goes cruising down a freeway at midnight, in a low population density area, what is the probability of her encountering another person?

If you answered 'low' then you are correct! Good job! Light this quiz on fire and throw it on your teacher's desk.

If you answered 'high probability', then scroll down.

Question three: If the girl does encounter someone else, will it be with her

A. Car

B. Fist

C. Face

D. All of the above

If you answered D, then you are a psychic, and should likely be burned at the stake.

"SHIT!" I screamed, slamming on the breaks, but it was too late. I watched in horror as the guy's face appeared in my headlights, fast, too fast, then vanished as he went down. His body hit my car with a loud 'thump'. I rolled another few yards before my car finally came to a stop.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I hissed, scrambling at my seatbelt. I put the car in park and grabbed my cellphone before bolting out of my seat. I scanned the dark road for the stranger's form.

"Ow." I heard in the distance, and zeroed in on where the noise came from. I ran over- the first thing I noticed was the blood. So much blood. My heart broke.

"Oh god." I half-sobbed, I took a step towards the figure on the ground, and knelt. Cautiously, I reached out a hand. "Are you okay?" It was a stupid question, I knew it was- even with his back to me, he was clearly not okay. His brass colored hair was matted down with fresh blood, and his leg was bent at an awkward angle. Distantly, I noted he was wearing the same jumpsuit that everyone on the cleaning staff wore, but I didn't recognize him. He must have been walking to the school when I hit him. I sobbed again; how could this happen?

He coughed, and rolled over, startling me out of my reverie. My eyes traveled to his face, and I gasped, partly in awe. The man was awake, and looking at me with the strangest eyes I'd ever seen. They weren't an unusual eye color- just hazel, but what was startling was how large they were, and how golden. Most hazel eyes are brown and green- but his eyes were lighter than that, more golden. It was enough to snap me out of my panicked daze.

"Oh shit, jesus, fuck, I haven't called an ambulance, yet!" I started scrambling with my phone, dialing as fast as I could. The guy must have been delirious because he seemed like he was on the verge of laughing at me, but I didn't care, I was too focused on saving his life.

I choked down my panic to give the woman on the other end directions as to where we were before hanging up. The man was still watching me, strangely calm. I crawled over to him, and hesitantly reached out before pulling my hand back. The lady on the phone had said not to move him, in case his back was injured, but she never said anything about touching him. WIth that in mind, I continued reaching out and tried to push some hair out of his eyes.

"Can you hear me?" I asked, tentatively. He continued watching me, unblinking, for a moment, before winking, as fast as a hummingbird flaps. I smiled shakily and sort of sob-laughed- at least he had a sense of humor in all this. I on the other hand was happy he was alive, but absolutely horrified at myself for causing another human being pain. "You're going to be okay, man, help is on the way. I'm so sorry this has happened." I wondered for a moment if he could afford the hospital bills that were coming. Something else occured to me, the same way you half-remember a dream. Something odd, but before I could pull the thread of thought, the sound of sirens in the distance distracted me. I looked away from the stranger's eyes and looked up.

"There they are!" I forced a happy smile for him. "See? I told you, you'll be fine." Hair fell in his eyes again. I once again brushed it back, and realized his eyes were now closed.

"Oh god." I whimpered. "No, no…. Wake up! It's okay! You're going to be okay!" The sirens were right behind me now, drowning out my pleas, but I didn't care. I gently tapped his shoulder "Please, wake up, the help is here, don't go!" I was starting to wail. A voice in the back of my head said I was hysterical but I didn't care. I stretched out my hand to try and shake the stranger awake, unintelligibly begging and pleading with him, with God, with anyone who would listen. Wake up, WAKE UP!

Hands were grabbing me now, voices talking over my head and I kept screaming and pleading. Finally I calmed down, as the two EMTs took the man's pulse. It seemed like they felt one because then they were pulling out a stretcher and loading him up into the ambulance. I finally looked up at the man holding me back- he had the same eye color as the man I'd hit; golden-green, but was taller, with brown hair. He stared down at me impassively.

"Ma'am?" He asked, probably checking to see if I was still crazy. I ignored that.

"I'm riding with him." I said, glaring up into those eyes. For a moment, they seemed to twinkle in the lights of the ambulance.

A few hours later, filled with surgery and waiting, and I was sitting by the stranger's bed, his hand in mine. I had managed to convince everyone I was supposed to be there, though I knew the second that things calmed down, someone would start questioning my presence there. I was speaking to the lead surgeon. I'd already spoken to the police; they'd left me alone once they realized this had happened on the freeway. ("Who walks alone on the freeway at night?" The one officer had asked, shaking his head as he stepped out the door.)

"Do you know his name, Mrs. Galizur?" I shook my head 'no'. "Do you know if he has any insurance?" At this I glared. If I didn't know his name, then I clearly didn't know if he had insurance. Still, I heard the real question the doctor was asking.

'How is he going to pay for this?'

"I'll be paying all of his medical bills." I firmly stated, again, not a question. This was my responsibility. The doctor looked up from his charts and made eye contact with me. His eyes seemed like molten copper in the old hospital lights. He smiled at me, then, like I was a child who had done something both surprising and impressive. I was going to ask what he was looking at, but he turned on his heel and vanished through the doors.

"Well, it's just you and me now, mister…" I glanced briefly at his janitorial uniform, to see if there was a name tag. No such luck. I laughed, at myself, then at the situation. "You know, this is actually pretty funny." I said, looking back at the man's face. He didn't seem much older than me, maybe thirty-something. He looked a lot like a bird, in many ways- small mouth, beaklike nose- and the way he had stared at me! It reminded me of when an animal trainer shows you how birds of prey keep their gazes locked on things. You can move the arm they sit on around and around, but their gaze remains motionless- locked. He had stared at me like that exact same way, when I came to see if he was okay.

He wasn't staring at anyone now. My smile fell.

"Well, it's not _really_ funny. I'm so sorry you're hurt." I swallowed another sob- come on, Raz, we're over that part! Pull it together! "It's just that… I used to fake getting hit by cars… well," I corrected myself "I wasn't faking that, it's just that they couldn't hurt me. Don't ask me why, I don't know, either!" I waved my hands, and started animating my speech, as though he could really hear me. "But I used to do it to get strangers to pay my medical bill, and then take a cut of the funds from whatever crooked doctor I could find. Usually by the time I made it to the hospital, there wasn't any need of medical attention at all." I chuckled briefly, remembering the pleasure of pulling one over on other people, before guilt hit me hard. "I stopped doing it, but I never felt bad about it." I leaned forward and put my hand on my chin. "Until now. I feel awful, now. For hurting you, especially, but more than that…" I trailed off, the thread of thought that had come to me earlier, kneeling on the bloody road returning and blooming into a full-blown idea. "...More than that, I feel bad because I made other people feel this way, and took their money."

The idea was this: I was getting _exactly_ what I deserved.

Whoever was responsible for that doctor drowning in morphine…. Those pranks on people who deserved it…. This seemed exactly like that situation. Someone had caused me to hit an innocent man with my car to teach me a lesson.

I stood up abruptly.

"I think I have to go, but you stay here and get better. I think I can find who did this to you… I mean, who made me do this to you" I said to the bronze-haired stranger. I turned, my heart pounding. For some reason, I was furious- not because some… thing… had tried to teach me a lesson, but because they'd gotten this man hurt in the process. Something about him really pulled on my heart strings- maybe it was just the guilt. I paused at the door, to look back, and spotted his worker's jumpsuit hanging by the attached bathroom. It was still covered in blood, but was otherwise in good shape. I figured I could help him out by getting it cleaned, at least. I walked over to the garment and was moving to grab it when something caught my eye. A seemingly innocent tear in the sleeve. I'd seen that tear already, on someone else's jumpsuit, today.

Suddenly my anger blossomed into outright rage.

"Hey!" I said, looking over at the injured man. "This isn't funny!" I stomped over, jumpsuit clutched in one hand. "I was really worried, about you, you know!" I threw the clothing on his chest, but he still didn't move. I remembered earlier, when it seemed out on the road that he'd been laughing at me.

"Stu!" I said, shoving his shoulder. "Stu! I know it's you, you stupid butthole! Lesson learned!"

Guess he thought I'd start doubting my conclusion, because he stayed 'asleep', but I'd seen enough of the supernatural to know when to trust my instincts.

"Wake up you jerk!" I hissed, rearing back to punch him right in his stupid, attractive bird-face.

"OW! CRAP!" I roared, pulling my fist back. Astonished, I watched for a moment as my bones rearranged themselves under the skin before looking up. There was nobody in the bed.


	5. And We're The Punchline

This time, she lived to witness the greatest sight the civilized world had ever seen. It was 1851, the year of London's Great Exhibition. The Crystal Palace had finally been built, and it was a wonder of the world! She liked to think it looked a lot like where angels lived, but she couldn't figure out where the thought came from. It was a delicate, ethereal structure, made of thousands of sheet glass panes- an innovation in glassmaking that had arrived just in time, along with a sudden cut of taxes. Many people viewed this as divine circumstance, like her uncle. It seemed like a miracle that a building so light and airy could exist- most Londoners, like she and her family, lived in dark, musty rooms- mainly because of the aforementioned glass tax. Her name began with an 'S'... maybe Sophie, or Sara, but she remembered clearly that her father's name had been John, a poor man from Leeds, turned London dock worker.

They were commoners, but for once, they were not banned from breathing the same lucky air as people with money could. The Crystal Palace was open to everyone, where the poor and the rich knocked elbows.

"Like Heaven." Her father had said, looking down at her. It was just her and her father, now. She couldn't remember why. "Everyone's the same."

It was all a blur from there. Never had she seen so many people in her entire life, and none of them looked down at her as they jostled by. She felt very scared in the crowd, and when she looked up to tell her papa, he was gone.

Some time passed, filled with tears and calling, but a child can only maintain a good cry for so long, so eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, she gave up. Instead, she allowed herself to do what all the faceless adults around her were doing: she looked at the exhibits. All this fantasy around her was the best moment of her short life- so separate from the greys and poverty of the real world. She was the happiest she had ever been.

This was how they found her. It seemed a wonder that souls so dark could exist in a place so divine. She died screaming for her papa, bleeding slowly onto a witch's altar, though she hardly knew that at the time.

 _Spells are often about sacrifice: their ingredients are always costly to acquire, in varying ways_. Another alien thought; it felt like an adult was thinking in her brain.

"Papa." She whispered, and then she was gone.

* * *

"Stu quit." Grumbled Marco, as we passed in the hall. We always ran into each other on my way to Philosophy 104. He usually gave me updates on gossip he managed to pick up, I just complained about my course load. It was a wonder we were friends at all, given how little we had in common.

"The new guy is an asshole."

'At least he isn't a shapeshifting immortal creature with a chip on his shoulder for wrongdoers.' I thought to myself, meanwhile my mouth said "Oh yeah? How so?".

"He doesn't listen, and keeps throwing trash everywhere."

I laughed; it sounded a lot like Marco himself- he was an older guy with so much curmudgeon in him that he'd walk over coals if you told him not to. I adjusted the strap of my backpack, and checked my phone for the time.

"You're just mad because someone is doing your job better than you!" I teased, starting to walk away. Marco threw his hands up, allowing the mop he'd been propping up to clatter to the floor.

"That's the thing!" He cried "He's doing that, too! He is always done before us!"

I just grinned and waved at him, laughing slightly at his annoyance. Marco hated new things.

"Whatever, Polo, I'll see you at lunch."

* * *

"Has anyone head of Dunbar's Number?"

Philosophy was so far tied with Anthropology for my favorite subject. Mythology classes came in a close third… The school kept telling me I had to pick a major, but so far, I was refusing. A degree wasn't what I wanted- what I wanted was to devour knowledge. Often, I felt like a black hole- defying the conservation of information theory by sucking new data up every day. 'Sorry Stephen Hawking.'

I laughed to myself. Today was going to be boring-I had encountered Dunbar's Number in my reading already.

"Is something funny, Raz?" The professor, Mr. Green, was a nice guy, really- actually quite young and good looking; he hadn't lost his hope in today's youth yet. But he had an arrogant streak a mile long.

"It's the reason people suck." I stated simply- there was a breeze of giggles that swept the room. Not all of them friendly. Mr. Green smiled in a patronizing way; he thought that because I said it stupidly that I was a stupid person, I could see it in his eyes. That was fine- I learned two schools ago that people don't react well to people being too smart. It made them uncomfortable, and resentful. So I did my best never to shine as a student, but never fail as one either. Sam had told me to keep my head down.

"Haha, in a sense, Raz is right." Mr. Green said to the room. "It is a number discovered by Dunbar, obviously." There were some polite titters at his unfunny joke. "It's a number based on the size of a primate's neocortex. For humans, Dunbar's Number is about 150. Simply put-" He sent a wry glance my way, as if mocking my _own_ simplicity "-It is the number of other humans we can recognize before we overflow. It is our maximum capacity for sympathy- everything we do requires more human interactions than that, though, and the consequences are dire." He had my attention, now- I hadn't read about this! "This number is the reason every inhumanity is committed. Why people are able to kill based on imaginary lines in the sand- drawn around 'us', excluding 'them'. In a way we NEED those imaginary groups- Cubs fans versus Braves, Muslims versus Christians, blacks versus whites; all of it is our way of coping. You simplify entire groups, civilizations, races of people into stereotypes, so that they take up less space in your brain. They become less-than-human to you. Unreal. And it's unavoidable- all of you" He pointed around the room, dramatically making eye contact with each student. "Do it. It's why you fret more over a failed grade than you do about another genocide in Africa."

The idea electrocuted me, I was glued to my seat; the ceiling had turned upside down. What a revelation! That the limitations of the human brain hindered so much of our lives!

 _Can't think. No room._

I frowned and shook my head, feeling a headache coming on. That thought had felt weird. It had felt like… a memory. I tried to brush it off and pay attention for the rest of the class, but it buzzed at the edge of my thoughts.

* * *

Dunbar's Number was still on my mind when I sat down for lunch, only half-aware of my surroundings. I was thinking about the doctor who had drowned in the morphine he deprived from the desperate. What if he did that because of a fundamental limitation in his brain? It didn't seem fair- like it was inevitable that you do something awful to someone, just because of the hardware in your head.

 _Too many memories_

During lunch, I was hardly there. I'd become too lost in my mind. I glared down at my french fries, thinking deeply about free will. Eventually noticed that a lot of food was missing from my plate. For a second I wondered if I'd eaten without thinking, then a hand reached out to pluck a french fry from my plate. I narrowed my eyes and followed the culprit's hand as it dunked my french fry into a milkshake, and plopped it right into someone's mouth. My eyes kept tracking upward till they met the smiling eyes of a very familiar asshole.

'New guy my ass.'

"Backpfeifengesicht." I growled in greeting. It was a German word that had no equivalent in English. It meant 'Face I'd Like To Punch'. A big grin briefly flashed from under bird-man-formerly-known-as-Stu's beaklike nose. Last night I'd thought he looked like a bird of prey, but now that I was seeing his face in movement he resembled mischievous child a lot more.

"Because that worked out so well for you last time."His voice- until now unheard- was sarcastic, and lively- not in a normal way, more in the exaggerated way an actor talks to a camera. Unreal. An eyebrow flashed up in the middle of his statement. Facial expressions seemed to shoot across this dude-thing's face like meteors across a sky- fast and bright. He was unreal, like the photos of food on the menu, instead of what you see on the plate.

I tried to remember that the bird-of-prey look was probably a lot more of the truth- this guy was dangerous. My survival instincts told me not to let him get a scent of fear; he'd clearly shown up with the express purpose of freaking me out. I also knew enough about his M.O. to know that he liked justice dealt out in poetic ways- by seeing through his illusion I had ruined the 'ironic punishment' side of things ,so he was likely dreaming something else up to punish me while showing up in person to throw me off. 'And I insulted him the day before, when I thought he was just a guy named Stu.' My brain unhelpfully added.

 ** _Defend them._**

He was something that hunted humans, and hunters are all the same. With all this in mind, I still chose to roll my eyes at him. In the end, what could he _really_ do to hurt me?

"Marco was right." I sighed. "You're kind of an asshole."

To that I got a sardonic smile- this one was slow to spread across his face. It seemed like a pretty unfriendly smile.

It made him look like a cat who'd eaten a canary.

"You're _funny_ " He was leaning forward, his eyes locked on mine the same way as was zero doubt in my mind that this guy didn't like me- I could see it right there in the way he looked at me like I was... _cattle._ It was a familiar facial expression, though I could not remember a time when I'd seen it before.

"I think I'm going to _like_ it here."

Then he stole another french fry.


	6. Give 'Em An Act With Lots of FLASH In It

There was nothing about justice-loving monsters in any of the books I read. I poured over what felt like a hundred books on mythology and anthropology, looking for some legend that explained this behavior. Sam always called it 'checking the lore', like there was some search engine that pulled up info on stuff that goes 'bump' in the night. But I'd never done this before; how was I supposed to know what a credible source even was? If vampires were real, did that mean unicorns were too?

I spent a lot of time sorting through bullcrap and urban legends, and in the end, I never arrived at any answers. By Saturday, I still hadn't found anything. The librarian was probably starting to wonder if there was a student buried behind the stacks of books piled on my end of the table.

As I walked out of the library, I considered calling Sam and Dean again, but something held me back. Pride, maybe, or arrogance. The journey home seemed to take forever, as I edged along the road, keeping an eye open for pedestrians, and thinking about justice. It was dark by the time made it home to my little apartment.

 _Spring equinox soon. Good time for casting. Have to save them._

The words idly drifted between both my ears,and I did my best to ignore them. I'd looked it up in a psychology textbook; what I'd been having lately were something professionals would call 'intrusive thoughts'.

And boy, did I feel intruded upon!

'Luke Key' as the birdman-formerly-known-as-Stu had introduced himself, was wreaking havoc on my personal life. He'd invaded all my favorite spots- the hallways between class, my lunch table, everything. 'Luke' never seemed to be working, but his hallways were always clean, like he'd been mopping at them all day and all night. Despite that, all any of us ever saw him do was lean against a wall and munch on candy bars. At first I thought he was following me, and started looking over my shoulders at every turn. I was constantly braced for some strange ironic attack that left me feeling like Birdman and Karma were in cahoots. The attack never came.

After a few days with no incident, I realized that 'Luke' wasn't interested in me at all. Whatever his business with me had been, it was either finished or on hold. No, instead he seemed to be watching the students, teachers, and even the other cleaning staff.

'He's looking for a target' I thought, one day, while watching those strange honeyed eyes flow slowly over everyone. I got a chill down my spine as his gaze slowly approached my spot in the busy hallway, but it skipped over me like I wasn't even there.

Instead of feeling relief like I'd expected, I felt… annoyed. Snubbed. Like we'd had this whole 'nemesis for life' thing going and then he just decided I wasn't worth the fight. At lunch was the only time he behaved like my enemy at all, and even then it was only to steal my french fries.

"Stop that!" I hissed, and slapped his hand. Luke just smirked and took another french fry. This time he cheekily dipped it into my little cup of ketchup, foregoing the milkshake. It was our first interaction since the first lunch when he showed his 'true face'. Of course, it might not have even his true face, but something about the way he wore his facial expressions like old clothes hinted otherwise. Whatever the case, it suited him a lot more than the 'Old Man Stu' look. We waggled his eyebrows at me, as if saying 'what are you going to do?'. I knew he wanted me to react, so I just sighed and kept eating. What else could I do?

Our third interaction was the following week. A man from Athens had died. He was the father of one of our local students, and he'd somehow been crushed by a van filled with candy.

 _Protect them._

I was furious. For some reason, I'd overlooked the fact that what this creature did was _kill_. For the past couple of weeks it had all been relatively harmless pranks, usually involving the humiliation of a bully or authority figure. This thing was not a person- it was a freak of nature killing humans.

" _I hunt monsters."_ Dean had told me with steel in his tone. His eyes had been hard and violent. I understood why, now- monsters killed people, and the people had no way of stopping them. But hunters did.

Before we continue, let me tell you a little bit about Lex Luthor. He's Superman's nemesis, and my favorite comic book villain. Why? Because in some lights, he wasn't a villain at all. Sometimes, depending on the writer and the year, his character doesn't want Superman gone because he's a 'bad guy' who doesn't like 'good guys'.

No, Lex wanted Superman gone because Superman was cheating humans out of something very valuable. Sure, Superman stopped the 'bad guys', but what did he take away in the process?

Imagine, for a second, all the bad things that have happened to you, what you've struggled through, what you will never, ever forget. Got it in your head? Now imagine those things never happened. Imagine that all that pain and struggle was just... _gone_. Who would you be? Would you be better?

I don't know what your answer is, because I don't know what you've been through, but I know that for me, after life on the streets, after everything that followed, the answer would still be 'no'. Life is hard, but a hot flame only makes steel stronger. Good times are nice and all, but you never know what you're truly capable until you go through hell and back. Superman wasn't _saving_ people, he was making them weak, and dependent.

So, yeah, I was glad that bad people were 'getting what they deserved', but I also knew that it was morally wrong. It didn't matter that they were bad people- it mattered that they were humans who had no way of stopping this _creature_ from hurting them. If there were bad humans, it was up to humanity to stop them.

If there were bad monsters, well, I guess it was up to me to put them in their place.

( Little did I know it, but I was already becoming a member of Team Free Will. )

So I was mad. I was beyond mad. Whatever that girl's father had done wasn't even a factor in my mind. She'd gotten the news right in front of me, during Philosophy, I'd seen the look in her eyes- relief, mixed with sorrow. The face of someone whose abuser had been a loved one. For her, this was not justice, because nothing would ever make it right. She'd been robbed of her chance to break free of someone who had been abusing her. He'd died before she got closure- and now she never would.

I'm not a temperamental person. Most people would describe me as 'sleepy' in demeanor, and 'mischievous' in attitude. I saw myself as an observer, someone who knew a lot, said nothing, and was always in on the joke. I never got mad, because that would be out of character.

 _Casting… Save them… Seals._

Rage, rage that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my hindbrain was bubbling up my throat like bile. It felt more like instinct than feeling. It was righteous, it was fury.

 _Protect them._

People who don't get angry just don't know how to deal with it when they do. I knew where he'd be.

"Hey!" Luke said, straightening up as I approached. It was a friendly greeting, as though we were buddies- and he was beaming at me like a kid. It only made me madder as I charged through the crowd toward him. His smile dropped when he saw my face, but all he had time to do was throw up his arms in surrender before I'd grabbed him by his (was that _satin_?) jumpsuit and shoved him against the wall.

A small part of my brain noticed that his feet were dangling off the ground. Wow. That was new. I guess I'd never had the chance to figure out if I had super strength. I stared down at 'Luke's feet for a moment in awe.

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop taking your french fries!" Luke was saying, talking to me like I was a crazy person, or a wild animal. His body was loose though, as though he wasn't really worried.

"You shouldn't have killed him!"

The creature's face hardly changed. I had not realized until this moment that his eyes were always creased into a smile, no matter what the rest of his face was doing, but now they weren't and the difference was stark. They were huge and golden and _angry_ , but his mouth was _still smiling_. I got goosebumps… I'd done something to upset him. Before I could keep spitting anger at him, he grabbed my hands and slowly peeled them off of his collar. My muscles tried to stop him, but simply tore in the process. He was _strong_. Way stronger than whatever 'super strength' I had.

"Sure I did!" He crowed, his voice still friendly and light. The laugh lines on his face returned, releasing a tension in my chest I hadn't even known was there. He arched his eyebrows suggestively and dipped his chin. "That guy was a class A weirdo!" His voice said conspiratorily,, as though sharing a secret with me.

"A pedophile, right?" I said impatiently, ripping my wrists from his hands. For a moment, Luke looked taken aback. "Don't look at me like that. It was _obvious_. The dude got killed with a van full of candy. Good one." Despite my begrudging tone, he leaned back and opened his arms as if basking in praise for a joke well told.

"Ehthenkyou!" He murmured, bowing his head. I shook mine.

"I saw his daughter in class today. He probably… _hurt_ her too." My voice had its sleepy quality back. I was calm, but still angry. Luke waved his hand in the air, like he was brushing off praise.

"No need to tell her it was me, I get embarrassed!"

"You think she'd thank you?" I asked, making sure my tone was innocent. It was the same way I asked a teacher a question I knew they couldn't answer. Unpretentious, calm. I took a step back to give him some breathing room.

"Why wouldn't she?" He asked, scoffing a little, lips turned slightly upward. I knew right then that arguing wouldn't work, but persisted anyway.

"Because she wasn't the one to stop him."

"Puh-lease, _that_ wilting flower? She _never_ would have stood up for herself!" I canted my head to the side, a considering look on my face.

"Perhaps. But we'll never know _now_ , will we?" 'Thanks to you'- the words went unspoken.

He gave me an annoyed stare, a disbelieving smile playing on his long face. It was like he couldn't believe anyone would question him, least of all me. He clearly wasn't listening to me. Not like how I had listened to Sam and Dean. Something in me broke, and all my anger left me, returning to that deep-inside place it had reared up from. I shrugged my shoulders, defeated. I guess I thought I could stop him- _it_ \- with a good debate. How stupid was I?

"Never say I didn't try and reason with you." I sighed, before turning around.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Luke asked from behind me, ridicule in his voice. "What are you gonna do, kid?" He seemed annoyed that I wasn't going to keep arguing with him anymore. He was saying other things to my back, but I ignored them.

I frowned stubbornly to myself as I walked away. _What indeed?_


	7. Give 'Em The Old Flim-Flam FLummox

**A/N: Just wanted to say: "HEY YOU, yes** ** _you_** **in specific. Not the comment above or below yours.**

 **You** **.**

 **Yeah- thanks for the review. I love you too. Yes, I do autographs.** ** _No_** **, I don't do birthday parties."**

 **Seriously though, if you have any critiques or suggestions, I'd love to hear them. I would love to hear your plot bunnies for this story; fanfics within my fanfic, your idea of how a kiss should happen. Really anything, I just like talking to you. (yes,** **you** **)**

* * *

I don't think there's a word for when you're holding back laughter even though you're really angry.

Fularious? Anglarious? Fun-furious?

"I am the night!" Batman screamed at me. I managed to lift my Mythology textbook right as a batarang went 'thunk' where my head would have been. That would have ticked. Throwing the book aside, I cackled "You'll never stop me, bat-freak!", and vaulted over the library table to rush The Great Detective. He grunted as I pushed him against the library wall, his voice all gravelly- just like the movies. Hey, if I was going to be forced to play this game, by George, I was going to have _fun_ with it! I sneered up at Batman with my best villainous face. "I've got your little Robin captive! Mwahahaha!"

"I. Am. JUSTICE!" He growled back, before tossing me into the shelves at the other side of the room. Books and papers flew up everywhere.T he librarian would likely never notice anything had gone on tonight. This building had _excellent_ janitors.

I was feeling very tempertained (entertained and temperamental- good one, right?). Every single goddamned place in the school had been invaded by 'Luke Key'. There was no peace. The only place he hadn't bothered me was the Crawford Hall library. I guess he fund books boring. But my peace was ruined- now he seemed _determined_ to keep me out of the library, too. Crawford Hall in total seemed to be off limits, but Loki seemed to take a special pleasure in blocking me from my 'safe space'.

Ever had that cousin who took the last bite of your favorite dish during a meal? They didn't do it because they wanted to eat it, they just knew you wanted it more. Little shits.

Loki knew I wanted to read. He didn't care if I did, he was just being a _shithead_. During the day on Monday, I'd tried entering though the front of the library, only to discover that the doors had temporarily been turned into flat versions of themselves- as if they were a perfect painting of realistic doors on an otherwise flat wall. I'd hit my head pretty hard on that one, then stared in disbelief as another student walked right past me and through the now very real doors. Cheeky bastard. Tuesday was worse. The whole building just up and vanished. _Literally_. Students were walking up into it and _disappearing-_ it wasn't invisible though. When I tried to even find what it was, I walked straight through it. I can only imagine what it looked like in the real world.

This creature wasn't just altering perception- he was making reality his _bitch_.

Despite that dangerous sign of power, I still plotted against him. He may have been powerful, but that made him arrogant- and I had my brain. Powerful, strong, and beautiful people never have to carve out a hole for themselves to fit into society- society welcomed them in with open arms. It was the skinny, ugly, and _weak_ people who you really have to look out for. _They_ don't wait for things to be handed out to them; nobody hands _them_ anything. People like that learn to _get_ what they want. I was betting that the same rule applied with powerful creatures- the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

He had his powers, but I was _human_ \- and humans have _ingenuity._

Eventually, after watching him for a couple more days, I'd devised a plan. It had been a _good_ plan.

Friday night, I decided to make my move, since everyone had gone home for the weekend. I thought that since Loki was so active during the day, that he'd be gone during the night. He had to sleep sometime, right?

The coast had _seemed_ clear- I'd entered the building with no problems, using my skeleton key to slip in. 'Stu' was going to regret giving me _that_ gift. I crept through the dark of the library- turning on a light would have drawn attention.

How many torso-height corners do you have in your house? A library is full of tables, which means that its like playing minesweeper in the dark. Eventually I made it to the mythology section, cursing and bumping all the way. That was when Batman had swooped down from the rafters at me. Asshole let me stumble through the dark before making his move.

I guess shouting ' **I am the night!'** at me was Loki's subtle way of telling me he didn't sleep.

"What are you, the 'Cake Crusader'?" I joked, dodging behind another bookshelf. I stooped to scoop up Edith Hamilton's 'Mythology' on my way.

"I'll stop you, Joker! You are not allowed in Crawford Hall" Another batarang hit the wall right in front of me.

"Ha-Ha." My words were in character but my voice was a monotone. I bet he thought he was soooo funny. I got up and bolted for the door, dodging those damn corners all the way. Right as I made it, the book I'd snatched was yanked out from under my arm.

"Motherfucker!"

I turned around, ready to give Batman a thrashing, but I was met by Luke's ever-present smirk, instead.

"Heya, sugar! Whatchya want a _book_ for? Isn't it a little _above_ your reading level?"

I huffed, folding my arms. His smirk only widened- the man was a mortal threat to peace everywhere.

"To figure out what you are."

He seemed to pout for a second. "I'm not a _thing,_ sweetcheeks. I'm a _who_."

"Yeah" I snapped, feeling petty. "But you're also a _thing_ with a freaky boner for justice."

"Justice?" His smile dropped (probably as close as he got to a frown), and with a snap, the library was back to how we'd found it. Guess the party was over. "I'm not about _that_ old shtick. Fire and brimstone? Those just aren't my thing, babe."

Now it was my turn to frown.

"Then why are you punishing bad guys?" I was genuinely curious.

"To teach them a lesson!" He threw out his hands in front of him palms up, as if presenting the obvious answer. Luke seemed exasperated with the conversation, like a kid who hated having to explain himself.

"You can't teach dead guys!" I retorted, completely bewildered. Was this guy _crazy_?

"Well, _they_ wouldn't learn." His tone made him sound like a pouting child. All the entertainment I'd felt drained from me, leaving just the anger. I shook my head, looking at him in disgust. He said it like he was _putting down_ old dogs who couldn't learn new tricks.

"What, so you _killed_ them? What if you're wrong about who the bad guys are? What if your moral compass is skewed?"

"I'm not wrong." He replied simply, shrugging, endeavoring to look bored with the conversation. I knew better- he was mad at being questioned. He probably didn't have to give explanations for his behavior- most people probably tried to kill him and be done with it. He just couldn't listen to reason, though- he dealt only in absolutes (and we all know that only a **Sith** deals in absolutes). I had been waffling about my whole plan for tonight- worried that I might be doing the wrong thing, but this… _trickster's_ conviction solidified mine. _I_ worried about what the right thing to do was, but _he_ didn't, and he wasn't going to change his mind.

So he had to be stopped.

"But what if you were wrong?" I attempted one last time. "Who would stop you?"

He seemed to think that one over for a moment, ceasing to smile and furrowing his strange little eyebrows. It was time to make my move.

' _Keep your shoulders relaxed, act innocent- don't believe the smile, he's_ _ **dangerous**_ '

I approached him slowly, doing my best to keep calm. Luke's chin dropped down to watch me as I got closer, into his bubble. His gaze was unreadable- his smile lines had vanished, like before. I suddenly realized why his eyes made me feel so uncomfortable. His face always smiled- but his eyes were _ancient_ , and always angry. I felt like a mouse willingly stepping on a branch with an owl. We were so close I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I kept my voice soft when I spoke.

"Do you have the answer yet?" There was a pause where he tilted half of his face away from me to look disbelievingly out the corner of his eye, before he burst into chuckles.

"Whoever said the Joker was worse than the Riddler has never been caught in one of _your_ interrogations, girl! You're worse than _Socrates_ , and _he_ was the _worst_!" He leaned in a little, a conspiratorial smirk crinkling his ancient eyes. "Believe me."

"I do." I replied distantly. "The answer is 'Me', by the way."

He leaned back, looking slightly puzzled.

"Wha-" He started to ask, but I'd already shoved the stake into his chest as far as it would go. He looked down at it, disbelief and pain in his eyes. I did my best to ignore the guilt from seeing that strange, childish face twisted in pain. He was a killer, and he wasn't going to stop. My trap had worked well, but I didn't feel as good as I'd thought I would. I watched somberly as the light faded from his amber eyes and he fell to the ground.

His slack face reminded me of when he played dead in that hospital bed. He no longer looked vindictive, childish, or even scary. He just looked small.

"I never needed to read the books" I sighed, staring sadly at the fallen creature. "'Luke Key' was not a very good pseudonym."

I turned my back to leave the library, but spared him one last glance when I reached the door.

"You should have listened to reason, Loki _._ "

* * *

The next day, my ethics professor took a swan dive from his office office window.

And get this- he worked in _Crawford Hall_.

"I hear it's _haunted_." Said a girl passing me in the hallway. My mouth narrowed to a grim line. The guilt from last night was slowly being replaced with relief- no more people would die, thanks to me.

Though, it got me wondering- maybe Loki hadn't been keeping me out of Crawford Hall just to piss me off- maybe he had been keeping me away from the scene of a crime? It didn't matter, anyway, because he was dead. Plus, it was probably just his way of punishing me, since I'd seen through the first attempt.

The bell rang for lunch, right as a thought struck me.

" _ **They**_ _wouldn't learn"_

He'd said. But _I_ _ **had**_ learned. I'd even shouted it in the hospital room. " _Lesson learned, asshole!_ "

After that, he hadn't paid much mind to me- in face, he'd left me in relative peace, even acting friendly when he saw me. He had behaved more like a particularly annoying middle school boy than a vengeful demigod. I pondered this as I passed Crawford Hall on my way to lunch. Maybe he really _hadn't_ been about the justice 'shtick', as he'd called it. It hadn't been about punishment, not all the time. A lot of the time it seemed like it'd been about 'teaching people lessons', just like he'd said. Well, that certainly fit the lore about tricksters, and it didn't make what he'd been doing right.

I stopped, suddenly feeling giddy. I had saved people- I was no longer 'Raz The Morally Ambiguous Con Woman!' I was a hero! A hunter! I _saved people_!

"Hyah!" I squealed, pumping my fist in the air. ' _I'm a fucking_ _ **badass**_ _!_ '

I'd ganked a _monster_! Like Sam and Dean! For a moment I forgot the crowd around me, all gathered to check out the spot where the professor had bit it.

"Who is she?" I came back to Earth to hushed indignant tones. "Disrespectful"

"Er…." I muttered, lowering my fist. People were staring. I had no explanation. "I have Tourette's." I grinned ceekily, before turning on my heel and continuing on to lunch. I still felt like I was full of nerdy giggles when I made it to the dining hall. I was a badass independent huntress who didn't need no Winchester!

"Could you give me cake, Doris?" I asked, looking hopefully at the tall cook.

"No lunch, honey?" She replied, giving me the Look. Everyone at our table got the Look at one time or another. It was a look that said 'You ain't eating enough'. Nobody can give the Look better than Doris- she was from an old Louisiana family that had been there since time immemorial. Her family had managed to keep to its' roots through generations- not even the Civil War, slavery, or years of cultural homogenization could keep the voodoo down. I don't know much about voodoo, but the Look is _definitely_ voodoo.

"I'm _celebrating_ , Doris!" I whined- it was meant to be a confident explanation, but the Look reduced everyone to nothing more than a petulant child. She gave me the side eye before nodding.

"Okay" She said, shoveling a whole mess of dark chocolate cake onto my plate "Just this once."

I flashed her my most charming grin before skipping over to the lunch table.

"Hi guys!" I crowed, grabbing up my fork. When I say my cake looked amazing, I mean it looked _amazing_. Thick, dark chocolate frosting, black and moist insides, and chocolate chips galore! I don't mind telling you I have a weakness for chocolate cake. You would too, if your weird immortal body guaranted you never got fat. The first bite of a cake this heavenly is a moment to be treasured, but before I could take it, I watched in horror as someone else's fork dipped right through, and took _ALL THE FROSTING_. THERE WASN'T EVEN CAKE ON THE FORK. I could hear Marco mutter 'shit' to my right. He'd gotten stabbed with a fork the last time he'd tried to take my cake and eat it too.

"I CAN'T EVEN." I burst, pushing back from the table. Next to me, Marco jumped like he was expecting pain. Across from me sat Loki, leaned back and grinning through slitted eyes with chocolate covered teeth. "YOU!" I spluttered, pointing my cakeless fork at him. He did his best to look like the smuggest bastard in the room, and succeeded.

"Me!" Came his joyous response. I tried to breathe normally. It wasn't working. I slammed my hands on the table. He arched an eyebrow arrogantly- here was where I asked in a dumbfounded voice 'how did you survive?', and he said something cool sounding like 'What did you expect from a trickster?'.

" _You ruined the cake to frosting ratio._ " My tone was low, and dangerous, and very, very calm. Loki raised both eyebrows to his hairline and gave me a disbelieving look.

"Uh- **what**?"

Marco, who knew me better than most, excused himself and quickly gathered his plates. I inhaled deeply through my nose, like a bull about to charge.

"I _said_ …" I grit out. "You **_ruined_** the frosting to cake ** _ratio_**!" I indicated my plate, and his bewildered eyes tracked the gesture. I could tell this was _not_ how he'd been expecting his wonderous resurrection to go.

I'm sure you all have noticed that Loki has managed to catch me by surprise multiple times, now. Every time it was in the lunchroom, too. I bet you were wondering why such a brilliant, modest, and beautiful main character could simply let a whole person sit across from them without even noticing. Well, I'll tell you why.

I take my food very, _very_ seriously.

"No, I didn't." He said, in the same tone as a boy going 'nuh-uh!'. He was looking very off-balance. 'Most of his interactions are probably with other gods, victims, and hunters.' I realized, smirking to myself. 'He never expected me.'

"Yes. You did." I replied evenly. He shrugged his shoulders and looked away, frowning. It looked like I was now getting the silent treatment. Well, at least he was silent! I grinned and grabbed my fork, ready to dig into the chocolatey goodness with or without frosting. I'd made Loki speechless, and while he wasn't as dead as I'd have liked, I still counted it as a win. I looked down at my plate preparing to dig in. The cake sat there, perfectly frosted, completely untouched. There was even a strawberry on top that _definitely_ hadn't existed a minute ago.

"..."

"The Cake Crusader strikes again!"

"... I hate you."

"No you don't!" Came his sing-song response. Finally I just ran out of anger. I'd passed the boiling point of annoyance and it vaporized into humor. Was this guy for _real_? I was fun-furious at him. I choked down a giggle and forced a scowl at him. He waggled his eyebrows in return. Loki may have been my nemesis, a total douchebag, and _definitely_ a vigilante murderer, but the guy had _style_. I shook my head and collected my plate, electing to flee before I actually laughed at the smarmy screwball. A quote from a recently read book came to mind.

 _"'If cats looked like frogs, we'd realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are **. Style**. That's what people remember."_

Still, he _had_ given me a strawberry.

* * *

Despite the fact that I'd stabbed a clearly homicidal supernatural creature in the chest the previous night, I walked home without fear. I knew that he wasn't going to retaliate- I wouldn't. Imagine being immortal and having someone try to kill you. It's a _lot_ less annoying when there's nothing for you to fear. Knowing Loki, he was probably more amused at my tricking him than annoyed at me shanking his ass. I was fine with him laughing at me. It would be much easier to kill him if he didn't consider me a threat.

My failed attempt had not been a loss.

Last night hadn't been a failed test, it had been a failed _experiment_. I now knew one thing that didn't work on Loki. In the words of the great Jules Verne _"Science, my boy, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth." ._

As I reached my house my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I lifted it to my face while absentmindedly unlocking my door. An unknown caller. 'It could be a telemarketer' I thought while hitting 'accept'.

"This is Raz."

" _Raz? Are you okay?_ " It was clearly Sam's voice, and he sounded panicked.

"Well hello to you too!" I joked lightly, entering my house. I was trying not to let the hurt show in my voice. He hadn't contacted me in over _six months,_ and _now_ he was worried? "Are _you_ okay? Haven't heard from you in a while."

 _"Yeah, I'm alright._ " He replied hastily, well, he certainly _sounded_ different. More grown up- sadder. Something had happened since we last talked. Something _big_. " _Listen, we're in the car, headed to you._ "

My heart dropped. They were stepping in on my hunt. My first hunt and the Winchesters were going to swoop in and take it.

"Is this a social call, Sam? I'm touched"

Sam sighed through the receiver.

" _Sorry Raz, but no. Looks like there's a ghost in your area."_

My back loosened with relief. They didn't know- they'd bought the story about the professor like everyone else! I still had time to kill Loki before they did.

"Oh… okay." I made sure to sound sufficiently disappointed, but then pepped up. "I'm looking forward to seeing you, Sammikins! Need a place to crash?"

 _"It's Sam, and no, it's better if you don't house any criminals. You should keep to the normal stuff._ "

I scoffed loud enough for him to hear. It went unsaid between us; I was never going to be _'normal'_. What followed was a long awkward pause, like we'd run out of things to say. In the silence I could hear someone snoring, probably Dean.

"Sooo…" I started, ready to start up a conversation with my distant friend. He interrupted me, seemingly uninterested in small talk.

" _I'll talk to you later Raz. Maybe we can meet for lunch or something._ "

"Yeah." I replied with fake happiness in my voice. "That'd be nice. Later, Sam!"

Before he could reply, I hung up my phone. I groaned and flopped onto my floor mattress. It wasn't meant to turn out this way… the stake should have killed the damn trickster!

 _But it hadn't._

My brain was abuzz with calculations and probabilities.

A thought intruded:

 _The less logical leaps it takes to arrive at a conclusion, the more likely it is to be true._

"Okay, Raz, let's try Occam's Razor." I murmured, doing my best to ignore the strange feeling that came over me. Sometimes it felt like my mind was quilted with thoughts that weren't... quite me. They still felt like my own thoughts, but also...more.

 **Extra credit on today's quiz:**

 **Using Occam's Razor, answer this logic puzzle:**

If you stab a trickster with a stake guaranteed to kill tricksters, and they do not die, what does that mean?

For the first time since I took on this 'hunt', I experienced self-doubt. I felt like I was swimming out into what I thought had been shallow waters, and was suddenly aware that instead of sand there was a gaping maw of dark water beneath my feet. Like there was something huge swimming just beneath me in the ocean. I considered for a moment that maybe curiosity was going to kill the cat.

Well, at least I was an immortal cat.

 **Answer key:**

There were only two solutions to the problem, and both of them raised more questions than they answered.

Either the lore about killing tricksters was wrong… or _Loki was no trickster_.

"Damn."


	8. Give 'Em A Fake And A Finagle

" **Once upon a time, two gods of Asgard decided to go on a didn't like each other very much, but on their own neither could ever achieve much good. One was too full of muscle to fit a brain, and the other was too full of brains to grow any muscle. Very often they were at odds, but for this story, they were working together.**

 **During the course of their quest, through various mistakes and stumbles, they made their way to the palace of a great giant. He immediately recognized them upon their entrance as Loki of the giants, and Thor of the Aesir. Hospitality was a very important thing to people back then- there are tales from all over the globe of gods punishing those who broke these sacred laws. The giant, while mocking of the gods, could not do anything but welcome them with open arms- he was too wise to mock the sacred pact of the host and his guests.**

 **However, while his actions were limited to being welcoming, his words could be as mocking as they pleased.**

" **How small you are." He chuckled, leaning back on his throne. "How little you gods have achieved!"**

 **Thor looked like he wanted to commit murder, but clever Loki knew that this was exactly what their host wanted. If they broke the ancient laws first, their host would be justified in striking them down within his halls. To calm his stormy companion and defend their honor, Loki challenged a giant of their host's pick to an eating contest- for among the Aesir, Loki had the biggest appetite in all host, pleased with the idea of humbling him, picked a thin and red-bearded giant to face Loki at the eating table. His name was Logi, which means 'Fire'.**

 **What Loki could not know was that Logi's name and identity were one in the same, so while Loki ate all the food before him, Fire ate the table, the bones, and the trough. This was the first time Loki had been beaten, but it would not be the last..."**

"So _that's_ why he keeps stealing my food." I murmured, turning a page- the story was not what I was looking for.

" **...And so they bound him in a chain knitted from his son's intestines, from which he could not escape. They left him there, deep beneath the stones of Midgard. As the last of the Aesir filed out, Skadi, who hated Loki most of all, placed a snake above his head, and its venom will drip down, into Loki's eyes and face until the Final Battle takes us all.**

"Venom of a serpent and dead sons. Sounds more like the Old Testament than Norse mythology." I sighed, snapping the old book shut. Still, it was something to go on. The Winchesters were two days out, and I knew that once they arrived I wouldn't have much time to kill Loki before the jig was up. They weren't stupid and had a lot more hunting resources at hand- they'd eventually discover that what they were hunting was not a ghost.

The lore hadn't mentioned anything about snake venom or intestine-chains, but perhaps the 'lore' had been written by a trickster. Now that I knew how wily the man was, I doubted everything I knew about him. Loki was old, and he'd survived a lot of change in the world. If I was going to beat him, I couldn't take anything for granted- and that meant researching my own ways of shanking him, instead of relying on what other hunters had found.

Before I could get back to reading, I paused when an odd rustling sound penetrated the silence in my apartment. My heart dropped in shock when I felt breath on my ear.

"Whatchya reading?"

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I groaned. "I thought you were done with me!"

The trickster took a step back from where he'd materialized behind my seat, putting a hand to his chest.

" _Me_?"

I just stared. His hand dropped and he pretended to be taken aback.

" _You're_ the one who couldn't keep your hands to yourself, lady! I'm just the innocent guy you like to penetrate with hard wooden objects." There was a pause as we both digested just how dirty he'd made that sound. If he was looking to make me sexually uncomfortable, he was going to have to try a lot harder than that. Making people uncomfortable was my bread and butter. Despite the fact that I was on a deadline, I couldn't help but take the bait.

'You know…" I said mischievously, leaning across the table where I was seated. "I was just reading something interesting about that." I stared into his eyes and waggled my eyebrows suggestively. Loki pulled out a chair and obediently put his chin in his hand, perfectly mimicking an attentive student.

"About stabbing people?" He prompted, looking curious as to where I was going to take this.

"Nope." I said, popping the 'p' and lifting the book to hide my face. "I was reading about your _testicles_." I did my best to sound casual while flipping a page. There was silence from the other end. I desperately wanted to know what face he was making, but I resisted the urge to peek. It would ruin the effect.

"Say _what_?"

I smirked.

"Well… You really seem to like putting your balls near goats, for one thing." I laid down the book and rested my forearms on it, smiling coyly before going for the kill. "I guess you weren't getting it anywhere else."

Loki's mouth literally dropped open. I knew from my studies that the Norse gods loved to verbally duke it out- they even made a party out of it, called a 'flyting'. Pretty much their version of a rap battle. Honestly it sounded like my kind of party! But it was one thing for the gods to insult each other, and another thing entirely for _me_ to insult a god.

For a moment, Loki made no facial expression at all, as if he just couldn't believe what was happening- before something changed and his face morphed into excitement. I suppose he missed the feeling of trading sick burns with other beings. He opened his mouth, looking like he was ready to retaliate, but after a moment snapped it shut. The Norse god pulled his head back, looking momentarily puzzled. He opened his mouth again a couple of times, clearly searching for something rude to say.

"You don't have a comeback, do you?"

He shot me a playful glare.

" _You're_ a cheeky little thing." He drawled, leaning back and putting his dirty shoes on my table. "I'll get back to you on that one."

"Well, don't take too long- you're living on borrowed time." I replied haughtily, glaring at his feet. I snapped the book shut and lifted my laptop from beneath my chair. As far as I was concerned, my work here was done. It was time to get back to research. Loki appeared to have other plans, though.

"You're still trying to _kill_ me!? Oh _come on_! I thought we were over that step!"

I half expected him to stomp his feet.

"Well, yeah, what you're doing is wrong." I replied absentmindedly, the word 'duh' hung unsaid between us. However, I was no longer paying the childish god any mind. I typed in 'spells using snake venom' into the search engine. It was a long shot, but hey, maybe I'd actually land on some way of getting him. Suddenly there was a displacing of air, and I looked up to find Loki sitting in the spot beside me. He had a fist to his face and looked like he was studying me intensely. I didn't like that look- it was too _alien_. He looked like someone who was trying to understand the workings of the human mind by cutting up a brain.

 _Angels think like mechanics. They don't understand. Protect them._

"How do you know?"

"What?" I snapped jerking in my seat. He was still gazing at me without blinking, but the look was softer than before. Less alien.

"How do you know that what I am doing is wrong?" He explained slowly, as if talking to a child.

Well, _that_ was unexpected. Who knew that Loki had a philosophical side? So far, he had me under the impression that he had the attention span of a particularly impulsive thirteen year old with ADHD.

" **...the other was too full of brains to grow any muscle."**

Ah, _yes_ \- I should have paid more attention to what I had been reading. He had kept me away from Crawford Hall for days before he killed the professor- which means he planned things in advance. Great. So not only was he like some kind of cosmic representation of everyone's annoying little brother, but he was also potentially a thoughtful and strategic thinker.

"A _hem_."

The trickster in question coughed, reminding me that he was waiting on an answer. I directed my gaze to him and mimicked Loki's pose. For a moment, he seemed unnerved at the attention, as though _I_ was the one that looked alien.

"Well, I don't know that I'm right and you're wrong, if that's what you're asking." Triumph glittered in his eyes. Before he could open his mouth to speak, I interrupted. " _But_ …"

"But?" He urged impatiently, I took a deep breath, feeling small under the force of his immediate, absolute attention.

"Well, you don't really think things through. It's like you believe you have this divine right to judge humanity, but you _don't_."

He quirked an eyebrow, and slitted his eyes.

"Oh _don't_ I?"

"No. You really don't'." I scowled, not liking the challenge in his voice. "Listen, it's okay to do what you think is the right thing, but it's like you haven't even stopped to think about it. Me? I doubt I'm doing the right thing, even now, but _you_? You _don't_. It's like you're following some celestial rulebook on how people should behave, and you never even question it. You're not God, Loki, you're just a dick with powers."

You know that scene in Lord of The Rings, where Gandalf is all like "Gimme dat ring, Bilbo" and Bilbo is all like "Nuh-uh, you just want it for yourself.". Then Gandalf gets all crazy eyed and looks like he's growing taller and angrier and louder, but you can tell that he's not because that would be impossible? Throughout my little speech Loki was looking more and more like a pissed off Gandalf. Nothing outwardly changed about his appearance or even his facial expression, but the room seemed to darken, and something thickened in the air. Shadows were looming behind him on the wall and I could have sworn I was hearing thunderclaps, but it all stopped when I mentioned God.

The room instantly returned to normal, and the thick atmosphere not only vanished- it seemed to take all the air with it. Loki now looked smaller than he ever had, and stricken, as though I'd stabbed him in the chest all over again. He looked... abandoned. But by what? His confidence, maybe? 'Good' I thought to myself, swallowing a pang of guilt 'maybe now he's listening'. But before I could open my mouth to say anything more, the Trickster was gone. I stared, slack-jawed, at the space he'd occupied seconds earlier.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

The empty room gave no reply.

* * *

I was in an old chemistry lab washing my hands when I saw Loki again. I had spent a full 24 hours in blessed peace. Sam and Dean were around four hours out of town, and I was feeling the heat. The lab I was occupying was too old for use and was next in line to be renovated by the school. Nobody was going near this room until next semester. I'd been using it to practice my own invented spell. Strangely, I had quite the talent for it- it was as natural as breathing.

This time I didn't hear him come in, so I jumped a little when a quiet voice piped up from behind.

"I think it through."

I turned to look at him, to make sure that it was actually Loki and not some sad, serious student who had wandered in. The bronze-haired demigod was perched on one of the lab tables, one leg dangling and the other held up by an arm. His chin was resting on his knee, and he stared at me over it. His eyes were unreadable.

" _Do_ you?" There was doubt in my tone. My eyes flicked briefly to a bowl of spell ingredients that were to my left- thankfully, he hadn't noticed them. He didn't take the bait, just nodded solemnly.

"I do."

I folded my arms and leaned sideways against the counter holding the sink. I didn't bother arguing with him, I didn't believe what he was saying and I doubted he could tell me anything to change that, so what was the point? Still, he persisted.

"I thought _your_ lesson through a lot. I would have killed you if you didn't learn it." I quirked an eyebrow, and he responded to my silent question. " _Yes_ , I can kill you Raz. And it would be _easy_." A shiver ran down my spine. "But you passed. I give all of them a chance, you know. To do better, or at least try. And some of them do." He sounded proud, and his voice was warmer than I'd ever heard it when he addressed me. " _You_ did. Do you remember telling that cop that you were going to be riding in my ambulance?" I looked into Loki's golden, serious eyes, thinking back to that night. Suddenly it clicked, and my eyes widened. "That was you!" I gasped, pointing an accusing finger. Something of the old Loki returned in the form of a wicked smile. "I was the sexy doctor, too. I'm still holding you to those hospital bills, by the way." He winked.

I swallowed my smile and turned my back on him. I took a step towards the spell ingredients.

"That doesn't make it okay, Loki!"

I heard his feet hit the ground behind me, but he didn't move. He sounded sulky.

"I thought you, of all people would understand! You are one of the good ones, you passed the test!" He really sounded irked. Passing his tests seemed to mean a lot to him. I was like... one of the chosen few. The Decent Human club, and here I was, a good person by Loki's own rules, and I was questioning him. I whirled on him.

" _So?_ Listen, I'll tell you what Sam told me." He interrupted.

" _Sam_?" He questioned, his voice urgent. " As in Samuel _Winchester_?"

I hid my shock and continued on as though he hadn't said anything. I wasn't going to give him any information on my friends. "He told me that it's not fair for supernatural humans like me to hurt normal humans. And by the same logic, it's not okay for you to, either. Let humans deal with human problems, Loki. If we aren't allowed to fight our own battles, we'll never get stronger."

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes at me, but his smile was back. It was indulgent, as though I was a cute kid who had just refused to participate in naptime.

"Listen, I get what you're saying, really, I do, and I respect it." He waggled a finger at me. "And I like you, I do! You're smart, for a human!" His face grew serious, and stormy "But there are things done in the dark, _awful_ things, to people who don't deserve it and can't stop it. How does a human _'struggle_ ' against someone dropping a roofie in her drink? How can a person _'get stronger'_ from being _slaughtered_ by a serial killer?" His words did move me, but I ignored my self-doubt. Now was not the time to get into a philosophical discussion with the Norse god of miscief. I took another step to my left. That's it, Loki. Monologue away. That's never gotten _anyone_ killed. "There won't be justice for those people, there won't be peace, and then where will all your morality be?"

 _Magic produces change by working directly with consciousness._

A voice narrated.

"So it is about justice, after all!" I fished in my pocket for a moment until my fingers met a small cardboard box.

"What? No! Like I said, lady- Justice isn't my-"

"-Shtick. I know. Funny word."

There was a small scraping noise and a flare of light. Loki fell silent. The darkened room around us flickered ominously from the fire I'd just lit. The burning spell ingredients smelled _awful_ \- snake venom, cat bones, and intestines woven like a braid. Loki didn't move at all. I never realized how _still_ he could be. He couldn't have been breathing. He was fixing me with that bird-of-prey stare over the fire.

" **Létt er þér, Loki;** "

I intoned. Loki shifted slightly, the movement almost too fast to see. He was now fully facing me, shoulders relaxed, eyes ablaze. I could no longer tell if they were reflecting the spellfire or shining with their own inner light.

" **mun-at-tu lengi svá leika lausum hala,"**

The blaze turned blue- I was invoking the ice goddess Skadi. It was her rune, _Isa_ , that was painted over my heart.

"Raz."

I looked up from my casting. His eyes were still blazing gold, despite the azure flames. Guess that answers that question. I'll add 'glowy eyes' to my list of trickster traits when I write up the new lore. I gulped and continued, struggling to move my tongue around the memorized Nordic words. Something on my chest began to burn painfully cold- probably the rune- but I pressed on.

" **því at þik á hjörvi skulu ins hrímkalda magar** "

The blue blaze was suddenly everywhere, gleaming along the walls- shining across every available surface- as though the whole room had been coated in phosphorescent ice. Everything was blue and cold.

Except his eyes.

"Stop." The word echoed strong and clear. I didn't know I could sense magic until now, but I could _hear_ it in Loki's voice. It twined like a golden thread in the air between us, reverberating. The power of his command was making my throat try to close up. The foreign, incomprehensible _age_ in his eyes made me want to let it. Still, I forced myself to choke out the final words of my makeshift spell.

" **görnum binda _goð_."**

And as dramatically as it had begun, it was finished. The room was empty. I was alone.

On my way home, I did my best not to picture Loki, screaming in pain and anger at the center of the Earth. I really did try.

"He was a monster."

But when I closed my eyes, I saw the trickster's grin, and something in me _knew_ that my spell had failed. It's hard to describe the sensations I was having, because the human language does not yet have the words, but I'll do my best. The spell was still... attached to me. When spells are cast, they don't just vanish into the air- well, they do, if they were cast correctly, but mine had been incomplete.

I could feel the ice-blue threads of Skadi's borrowed magic, tethered to some anchor within myself- but on the other end, where Loki should have been, there was just an empty space. The lines of magic were flailing wildly- like a rope that had been cut. The strands of foreign magic were still draining my energy as they searched for Loki, and I could actually feel it starting to hurt. I didn't know what to do- until now, I'd been relying on instinct to do these things. Like somewhere inside I had a memory of doing this before. I could feel the danger mounting as more and more was siphoned away from me.

 _"Stop._ " He'd said, and the spell hadn't caught him. He had sounded so serious- even afraid. I had assumed it was because I was on the right track, but it wasn't, was it? He'd known. He'd known that the spell was dangerous and he'd tried to stop me.

The situation was getting desperate, so I tried to do something, anything. A command bubbled up from the recesss of my mind, telling me to do something I had no idea how to do, but I tried to do it anyway. Those ropes of magic were draining me, so I reached out and _cut_ them. At least, I cut them in my minds eye. I really have no idea what I did.

Immediately, a pressure I hadn't even noticed was lifted, but a new weight was added. I felt tired, and when I say tired, I don't mean sleepy, exhausted, or even drained. I felt the same kind of tired that often happened right before my heart stopped in a hospital bed. My mind was being flooded as my body slowly died.

 _Stop the magic at its' source. Magic is about sacrifice. Protect them. Good time for casting. Protect them. Too many memories- not enough space. Can't think. Can't think._

"Shit" I clutched my chest. My heart beat once, twice, and then I was gone.


	9. They'll Never Know You're Just A Bagel

**A/N SO I CHANGED HOW THIS CHAPTER ENDS. DRASTICALLY. Reread it.**

* * *

When you're dying, the last thing to shut down is your brain. Like a person sitting alone in the center of a building that's slowly going dark. First, the muscles fail, then the organs. Finally, your brain ceases to get sensory information. You can't hear, you can't see. Then you're gone.

After you're dead, your eyes turn cloudy- there's no more water keeping them clear. The red, oxygen rich blood slowly leaves your capillaries, making you pale and bluish. Finally, your body dehydrates, pulling the skin away from your fingernails and teeth, showing your skull.

When you come _back_ to life, all of that goes in reverse.

So. First, the senses.

"-az, _RAZ_!"

"Huh, wha-?" I snorted and grumbled. I wanted to rub my eyes, but for some reason my arms felt as cold and as heavy as marble. My eyeballs felt as dry as sandpaper- like I'd had them open all night. There was noise around me, and someone saying my name with fear in their voice. Finally, I got enough water in my eyes to see a figure above me- probably the source of the hand shaking my shoulder. I felt a jolt as something that felt a lot like magic (I could sense that a lot better, now) went flowing through my muscular system. Another small zap as my heart started beating. Heartbeats kind of hurt, when you haven't felt them in a while.

Ready to test my newfound life, I shot to a sitting position from where I was lying on the floor. I must have collapsed there last night.

"GAH!"

There was a thump as whoever had been hovering over me fell back in surprise. I blinked again.

"Oh, hi Sam! Is it Monday already?"

"What the fuck?" Came Dean's gravelly voice from the doorway. I turned my head to him, eyes still wide. I knew from his perspective, I probably looked like an animated corpse.

"Hey there, Deano, still as grumpy as a wet cat?" I snapped and pointed both fingers at him like guns. "You keep up the good fight, there, fella. The world's more macho with you in it!"

"Raz?" Sam's voice broke a little. He was looking at me from across my living room floor, shaken. Mocking Dean was fun, but Sammykins clearly needed some reassurance.

"Oh don't act so surprised." I rolled my eyes and started climbing to my feet. "I'm immortal, remember?" I stretched for a moment, ignoring the half-hostile, half-scared stares of the hunting brothers. "Would either of you like some tea?"

Dean got a grip before Sam did, scowling and shaking his head.

"No thanks, kid." ("Kid?" I scoffed, but he ignored me.) "We're here to question you on the stuff that's been going on at your campus, lately." I let out a long huff and kept heading for the kitchen.

"Well, I need tea. You know what it's like being dead? It's like the worst hangover ever. Do you have any kind of idea the shit that grows in your mouth when there's no saliva to clean it?"

Now the boys looked completely horrified, all anger forgotten at the idea of grave-breath. Good. It was the intended effect. People think being a joker is about being goofy and loveable. It's not. It's about distracting people from how they should feel about you.

"So." I yelled, loud enough for them to hear me from the kitchen. "What do you guys want to know?"

"Well, have there been any violent deaths in that building?" I smirked to myself while fishing out a cup.

"No."

"No? Any flickering lights?"

That one got an eye roll, though they couldn't see it. "No, and no cold spots, either." I clicked my electric kettle on and wandered back into the den. Sam looked up from his seat at my table, eyes concerned.

"How did you die last night?" My arms crossed and a leaned a shoulder against the doorway. My smile was grim- I didn't want to think about last night's failure. Something in me was sure that the spell would been impossible for Loki to escape- Skadi had even seen fit to lend her power to the incantation. By all rights Loki should have been captured- and then the spell wouldn't have drained me as badly as it had. But he was running free, and I had died.

"None of your business." I finally responded- quietly, so he knew not to pry.

"...okay" He seemed to let it go, and started folding up the little notebook he had. Dean was already standing up to go. Sam gave me a long look before also unfolding himself from his chair. He'd grown since I'd last seen him.

"Raz…" He began, a warning tone in his normally gentle voice. "You haven't been looking into this, have you?"

I gave him the stink eye.

"And if I have?"

"Then I'd tell you not to. You shouldn't get yourself mixed up in all of this. You have a shot at being normal."

My laugh was bitter.

"Normal? Really, Sam?" I swept a hand out. "You just watched me come back from the dead. People like me? Freaks? We can never be normal." I did my best not to sound angry, because I wanted to sound objective- like I was okay with what I was saying. "It isn't fair to ask that of me. To step out of a fight I want to join. It's my choice."

"No." Sam was looking sad, and angry, but not at me. It was like something I'd said had really resonated with him. I tentatively took a step forward, a niggling feeling out doubt ghosting over my mind. Maybe I should have considered what I was saying more. There was nothing in the world Sam wanted more than to have his normal life back. And I was telling him that it was impossible."

"Sam…" I murmured.

"Raz." He replied, calmly. "Stay out of it. I'm asking this of you, please."

I watched his big baby eyes and sighed, looking away sulkily.

"...Okay, Sam." I did my best to look resigned, and it apparently worked, because he smiled and clapped my shoulder while shrugging on his backpack.

"Great. I'll see you after the hunt, you can tell me what you've been studying."

I stayed standing where I was.

"Yeah." He walked out the door. "That'd be great."

I remained there, frozen in my front room, for a moment, clenching my fists.

"Ahem."

"Woah!" I shouted, pulling back. I hadn't noticed Dean staying behind.

"Listen." He began, looking almost... kind. "I know you aren't going to stay away from the Life." He did a half chuckle. "Hell, lady, I wouldn't either. If you insist on doing this, and I can tell that you do, I can hook you up." He must have seen the excitement in my eyes- he raised two open hands in the air as if to push it back. "Hey, it's not much, ok? Just some names and phone numbers, and most of them won't like you very much. But they'll tell you what you need to know."

There was a long pause, where I stared solemnly into his bright green eyes. This was it. Our serious bonding moment, where we totally hit it off and he trains me to be a super badass hunter. Everyone will love me. Everyone will think I'm worth having as a main character!

"Awwwwww" I crooned, and the friendly look in his eye evaporated, along with my chances at stardom. I reached out to give him a friendly punch in the arm, knocking him a little off balance "Thanks Deanie-Weenie. I didn't know you cared. So I was thinking on a spring wedding…" I began.

"Whatever." He grumbled, rubbing his arm. "I don't know why I even bothered."

I simply smiled sweetly, strolling over to my door and opening it cheerfully. I gave him the friendly version of "Get the fuck out", which consisted of me bowing and indicating towards the door, like a butler. There was a silence where I heard him choke back an angry laugh. I was learning the art of making people fungry (fun-furious? fun angry!) at me from one of the best! Dean flounced out without giving me a second glance.

Wow, so I guess the Winchesters didn't make instant friends with every wacky supernatural babe to come their way.

Bummer.

Oh well, I still had my nemesis to deal with- no time for friends, or mary sues for that matter. Speaking of- I was wondering why my spell hadn't worked last night. By all rights it really should have.

A high whine pierced the atmosphere of my room.

Good.

Tea time is perfect for plotting.

* * *

"Raz, what are you doing here?" Sam had loomed up over me while I chatted away with poor Mr. Curtis: Alien Love Slave. I quirked an eyebrow.

"Uh, I go to school here. This is our dive?" We stared at each other over Curtis' head. Bitchface number 4 wasn't gonna stop me from becoming a hunter, but he didn't have to know that.

"Heya Raz!" Dean put his hand on my head while he sat down at our table, then ruffled my hair like I was his annoying kid sister. "Who's your friend?"

"Dean…" Sam began, clearly annoyed that his brother seemed okay with me butting in. Dean smirked up at him, and I stuck out my tongue.

"Dean, this is Curtis." Curtis grunted, staring broodingly into his cup. "He's been abducted by aliens." Dean tried not to inhale his drink. I collected my empty pint glass and said my goodbyes, ignoring Sam's glare and Dean's wink. It seemed like Sam was now the one who didn't like me, and Dean was the one on my side. Oh, how quickly things change.

I wandered over to the bar, where Dean eventually followed me.

"A purple nurple, please!" He ordered- the pretty blonde on his arm giggled.

"Coming right up! Purple nurples- you sure you don't want that mixed with a protein shake, big guy?" Dean missed the snark in the tall bartender's tone, but I didn't. My eyes snapped to the man behind the counter, who was already busy at work making Dean's disgusting concoctions.

"Oh, hey again Raz!" Dean drunkenly threw an arm over my shoulders to give me a half-squeeze. Now it was the bartender's turn to stare, first at Dean, then at me. His eyes were dark, and angry. It was sufficiently weird enough for me to shrug the older Winchester's arm off and get out of my seat. With a glare like that being directed my way, I wasn't going to order any more drinks. Dude looked like he wanted to spit in Dean's drink, anyway.

"Raz." Sam acknowledged me as I passed by.

"Sam." I replied, not even looking at him. He sighed.

"I'm just worried about you, okay?" I gave him my best stink eye. "Don't look at me like that, don't you realize how dangerous it is for someone like you to hunt?"

"Dangerous?" I scoffed. Sam grabbed my shoulders now, turning me to face him.

"What do you think would happen if a vampire nest figured out you can't die? You're like an endless supply of fresh blood, for them!" He gave me a little shake. "Or werewolves? Do you want your heart to get torn out once a month?" I lifted my hands to wrap around his wrists. THey felt delicate, crushable, but I did my best to exert the least amount of force required to pry him off of me.

"I understand your concerns, Sam." I squeezed his left wrist before letting go. "But you aren't responsible for me. If you really cared, you wouldn't try to take my choices away. YOu'd respect them."

Before he could respond, and he clearly wanted to, I had already turned and started my way to the exit.

"See you on the flipside!"

* * *

"Damnit, Loki."

I had been hunting around Crawford Hall, looking for the demigod, but he wasn't anywhere to be found. My food at lunch had been going unmolested- and my sense of peace was thoroughly restored.

And I hated it. If you think knowing a trickster is bad, imagine knowing he's around but never seeing him. I saw evidence of him everywhere, and took to carrying a stake around. I felt like Buffy.

* * *

This morning, I'd gone to visit Dean to get that list of contacts he'd offered. RIght after I knocked on the door, I heard a noise, like someone sighing. I turned around to watch in amusement as the tires on their evil car slowly deflated.

I said nothing when Dean answered the door. If they couldn't figure out that it was a trickster who was dogging them, I wasn't going to tell them. He didn't seem to like Dean very much.

* * *

Next time I was stopping by, I was bringing both Dean and Sam coffee. I heard a rustling noise and looked up. A laptop, presumably Sam's, since Dean didn't seem too techno-savvy, was resting precariously on the roof of their motel. I shook my head and knocked on the door. I got no answer, so I strolled right in.

"You got a trickster on your hands," An old man was explaining to two very pouty looking boys. He spared me a glance, but that was it. Dean (who had ordered the drinks) must have told him that I was coming.

"That's what I thought," Dean was saying, smugly.

"What?" Sam cried. "No you didn't!"

"But let me tell you," Bobby was shaking his head, giving the Winchester's a look that screamed 'bitches, please'. "You guys were the biggest clue."

"What do you mean?" Sam was looking at him, now.

"These things create chaos and mischief as easy as breathing. And it's got you so turned around, and at each other's throats, you can't even think straight."

Sam seemed to realize what Bobby meant first.

"The laptop.".

"The tires!" Supplied Dean, catching on. Bobby was nodding his head.

"It knows you're onto it," Bobby says. "And it's been playing you like fiddles."

"So what is it, spirit? Demon? What?"

"More like demi-gods, really," Bobby begins. He went on to list a few deities, Loki being among them. I endeavored not to flinch at the mention of his name. Here is was; my private nightmare. The boys were going to kill my prey before I could. And that was the only reason I was worried. Definitely.

"There's dozens of them. They're immortal, and they can create things out of thin air, things as real as you and me, and make them vanish just as quick." Bobby was saying, and I listened closely, hoping to get a lead on how to kill Loki before the others got to him.

"You mean like an angry spirit, or an alien, or an alligator,"

"The victims fit the M.O. too," Bobby went on. "Tricksters target the high and the mighty. Knock 'em down a peg. Usually with a sense of humour. Deadly pranks, things like that."

Dean looked like he was coming to a realization. My stomach dropped in dread. Here we go.

"Bobby, what do these things look like?"

"Lots of things, but human, mostly," Bobby replied, shrugging his shoulders a little. I was already backing out the door when Dean turned to Sam.

"And what human do we know that's been at ground zero this whole time?"

I slammed the door on my way out, and got to running.

* * *

"Loki! LOKI!"

Crawford Hall was empty- still cleared while the police investigated the professor's death. I slid and turned a corner, heading for the basement, where staff lockers were.

"Loki! Come out!" I did my best to sound authoritative, like a proper hunter, but my voice was cracking. I was going to gank Loki before they could, and to do that, I either had to kill him now, or warn him that they were coming. The staff room was empty. I slowed to a stop and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I'd been running around for a half hour in a frenzy, looking everywhere for him, demanding for him to call out.

"Please…" I gasped. Nothing- the halls remained empty. My heart beat finally slowed down and I stood up. Suddenly I was frustrated- Sam and Dean hadn't taken much more than a day or two to figure out what they were hunting- and it had taken me weeks! And now they were probably going to kill him, it, Loki- before I could really close the case. It felt wrong. Annoying. I'd died for this case. I pulled out my phone, and saw a few missed calls. Sam.

I took a deep breath.

 _Whatever._ The Winchesters could _have_ this hunt for all I cared.

I snapped to attention, though, when I heard voices in the hall.

"Sorry I'm dragging a little ass today, boys," It was Loki. That bastard must have been here the whole time! "Had quite the night last night. Lots of sex, if you catch my drift." I rolled my eyes, trying not to feel irrationally relieved, and failing. Why had he been ignoring me? I thought we had a nice whole 'motal enemies' thing going for us. I peered up around the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of Loki and the boys.

"Oh, damn, I forgot something in the truck. You know what, I'll catch up with you guys," Sam was saying. Loki didn't make a facial expression- come on, surely he knew they were on to him? That Sam was lying? How could he not? I wanted to shake him and scream ' _How could you fall for this!_?'.

"Raz?" It was Sam. He must have lied about leaving something in the car, so he could sneak down here, only to find me, glaring at nothing. I gave a tired sigh and turned to him.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"What are you doing in the basement?" He had a suspicious look in his eye. I shook my head, shoulders slumped.

"Nothing." I murmured glumly, walking by. He caught my arm.

"Raz. You need to be careful- this isn't a haunting we're dealing with here."

I did my best not to laugh at his commanding tone, and chuckled bitterly.

"Whatever Sam, he's all yours. I'm done here."

This time he let me go- but I felt his eyes on me the whole time I climbed the stairs that led to the exit.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs before my mind got the better of me. The bottom step of Crawford Hall is not a comfortable spot, but I wasn't in a comfortable place anyway, so I plopped myself down. My face rested in my fisted hands; if looks could kill, the spot of concrete in front of me would have evaporated already. I couldn't leave.

Ten minutes later, both Sam and Dean burst from the building, bickering. It seemed like Dean was also sick of Sam acting all holier-than-thou. I watched in mild curiosity as they bitched at each other. My lips were struggling not to lift into a smile- looks like Loki really did a number on them!They finally parted with Sam shaking his head, telling Dean to wait where he was. He didn't look down at where I was seated as he passed by, just stomped down the sidewalk and around the corner.

"Hey Raz." There was a shifting of fabric as Dean seated himself next to me. "You here for the hunt?" I gave him a careful once-over.

"Yeah." I grumbled. I heard him move a little, leaning back to put his arms behind his head.

"Sammy said that you were giving the janitor a Luigi Death Stare when he found you."

Color me shocked; Dean has been on the internet! I didn't reply, not wanting to give anything away, and not really wanting to lie on behalf of a monster, either.

"Did you know he was the Trickster, Raz?" Dean's voice had taken on a stern edge. I gave no reaction, just sat still and assessed him for a moment. He was doing the same to me- he didn't look angry, not like Sam had. He just looked stern, and a little understanding. I swallowed, not ready to say anything

"Why do you say that?." He nodded, as if he expected my response.

"You were trying to hunt him before we ever arrived, weren't you?"

My heart dropped; was I that obvious? My mouth finally started moving, getting ready to spill everything I knew, when Dean's hand clapping over my shoulder interrupted.

"Don't worry, Raz, we'll handle it for you." I retracted a little, offended. What was with the Winchesters and their egos, man? I didn't need him to comfort me- I knew I'd done a good job! The spell Dean's sympathetic face had cast was broken. My liar's mask returned, and I raised my smile-shield.

"Jee. Thanks Dean. I'm glad to hear it." He didn't catch the sarcasm, just grinned confidently and stood up.

"No problem, kid. I gotta go wait for Sam where the trickster can see me." I just kept smiling and nodding, waving as he wandered closer to the front of the building. When he was no longer looking, my plastic grin and hand dropped simultaneously.

"Good luck ganking him without me, asshole."

And to think I was about to tell him everything.


	10. But If You Catch 'Em Way Off-Balance

**A/N: Thank you guys for your thoughtful reviews, I really appreciate the input! I hope you like this new chapter. It's really meant to be the end of Act 1 for Raz. Sort of a launching pad for the rest of the fanfic. What do you think about Loki and Raz's motivations? DO they seem realistic?**

* * *

"I wish I'd brought a book."

I'd been waiting outside of Crawford Hall for at least two hours. Ten minutes ago, Dean had pretended to lose his patience and storm in. Sam and Bobby were sneaking in the back, so that it appeared that Dean was alone. Knowing Loki- it was probable that their little ruse would work. Despite his capricious nature, he was fairly easy to trick, himself. He wasn't very cautious, for a liar. Maybe it was because he had nothing to worry about.

' _But what if he does?'_

Maybe he'd seen through me those first times, and had prepared. Maybe he had been spying on me, and knew what my plans were. Maybe the stake would have worked if I was sneakier... What if the boys actually _killed_ him tonight? My back felt tense all of a sudden.

The idea seemed… unfair, somehow. Loki was my nemesis. Our problems were ideological; we disagreed with each other because we had opposing world views. His principles demanded that he kill the scum of the Earth, and mine demanded that I do my best to stop him. Also, he really, _really_ pissed me off. I wanted him gone, _personally_. He made me fungry, and I didn't like it.

It seemed like the Winchesters just wanted to kill him because he was a 'monster'- they didn't care about why.

" _...it's like you haven't even stopped to think about it. Me? I doubt I'm doing the right thing, even now, but you? You don't. It's like you're following some celestial rulebook on how people should behave, and you never even question it_."

You know, Loki and the Winchesters were a lot more similar than they thought.

"Let's get out of here before the authorities find that body!"

Speak of the devil.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby were legging it down the steps towards my seat, looking frazzled. I was on my feet in the time it took for them to clear the stairs. I realized I was nervous.

"Did you kill him?" I blurted feeling breathless. Sam and Dean stopped, as if they'd forgotten I was waiting. Bobby just shook his head and hurried to the car. The Winchesters shared a glance.

"Raz…" Sam began. "Did you know how powerful that thing was?" There was a trap in that question, but for the life of me, I didn't know what the right answer was. I gulped.

"Yes?"

It was clearly the wrong answer.

"And you didn't _tell_ us?" Dean was looking like the first day I'd met him. It seemed like I was back in the 'gank zone'. The injustice of that bothered me.

"You didn't need _my_ help. Sam made it expressly clear that he didn't want me involved." Sam had the decency to look slightly guilty at this. "And _you_ told me to 'sit this one out'. After telling me you'd _help_ me get starting hunting, I might add!" Dean's glare softened imperceptibly, but didn't stop. He wasn't the type to let guilt show. There was a long silence.

"Did you at least kill him?" I relented with the tired realization that neither Winchester was going to apologize on this. They weren't willing to admit they were wrong. (" _...you never even question it."_ )

"You guys are breaking my heart." Bobby hissed from the backseat of the Impala. "But can we do this somewhere _else_?" Dean barely spared me a glance before storming over to the car, but Sam lingered a moment, looking sheepish.

"We killed _**it,**_ (I flinched- it didn't feel that long ago that I had been an 'it' to them)for sure this time. All his illusions vanished when we stabbed him." I nodded my head, not sure of how to feel on that one. Sam shifted his weight, looking awkward. "Do you need a ride?" He offered- but he and I both knew the answer. I shook my head, slowly.

"I think it may be better if I do my own thing."

"You're going to involve yourself in this stuff no matter what I say, aren't you?" He was shaking his head, smiling. It looked like he'd given up- but hey, at least he was a better sport than Dean.

"Come on, you guys! Get in!" The older Winchester called. I smiled, relieved that while he was mad, I was still allowed in the car.

"I was already involved." I answered Sam firmly. He nodded his head in acceptance. He could understand that.

"Take care of yourself, Raz."

"I will."

That was all there was to say- it was time to go our separate ways.

"Isn't she coming with?" I heard Dean question his brother as the giant folded himself into the passenger door. The car door slammed, muffling Sam's reply. There was a moment where it seemed like Dean was arguing with Sam, gesturing at me angrily. He probably didn't like the thought of me staying behind at a crime scene. Finally it seemed like Sam had calmed him enough to rev the engine and get out of park. With one last glance from the brothers, and a little wave from Bobby, the big black death machine roared to life and went fishtailing off into the sunset.

Just like that, I was on my own.

In this life, there's no time for goodbyes- everyone dies eventually. I took a deep breath, and turned my back on the road. Crawford Hall loomed above, making my heart thud in my chest. Did I want to go in?

No.

But I had to.

* * *

Have you ever seen a stage after the players have all left? The sets are gone and the seats are empty. It's wrong. It doesn't feel right. Theaters are where life is blown up, exaggerated- made colorful! Theaters are all about telling lies- lies that hold up a mirror to the world and say "This is how silly you look.". All stories are lies- but that doesn't mean they are not true.

Loki had been a liar, but he had taught me something true- he had made me feel guilty for something I had done, showed me exactly what the consequences of my actions had been. I felt grateful for that, even though I had disagreed with him.

But now the stage was empty. The color was all gone. Curtains drawn.

"Fitting that you should die in a theater." I said to his corpse, not quite yet accepting that it was empty. That he was gone. I was seated next to him, staring at the stage. I couldn't look at his lifeless face a second longer. It was… wrong.

"I should have been the one to kill you, you know. You pissed me off long before you'd pissed them off. It was my right." I accused- as if he had any choice who killed him. Loki's magic was fading. First went the cheesy blackboard with the ABCs on it- shimmering away into nothing. Then the pillows on the water bed- slipping back into non existence. Then the bed itself, fading into purple. Finally the lights turned off, without Loki's magic to sustain them. When something dies, it takes a while for the world to realize it.

"Looks like you were just a trickster, after all."

At first I hadn't believed. I was sure that the reason my slaying attempts had failed was that Loki was not, in fact a trickster. So, of course the stake method wouldn't work. I'd come in to the theater and find him there, grinning like he wasn't a murderous psychopath. When I came to find a bloodied corpse and what looked like a porno set, I still didn't believe. After all, the weird porno set he'd created was still around. I'd sat patiently, waiting for him to appear, for our game of cat and mouse (but who was the cat?) to resume. But the curtains were closing on his act, and the set was being taken down.

Loki was dead.

"I'm sitting next to a corpse." I told no one in particular.

Gross.

* * *

They say that it's impossible to choose not to feel something- that it's bad to bottle things up, but I don't believe that. I believe that your feelings are hungry animals, and that you can feed them with indulgence, or starve them with self control. I believe that everyone has a choice in how they feel, think, and choose, but that we tell ourselves we don't. Humans are afraid of free will. We refuse to believe that we have it, so that we don't have to face the fact that our misfortune is of our own devising.

'I lost my temper', people say- as if your mood is an out of control car and you're just the passenger. 'I couldn't help it.'

I _would_ not mourn the death of a murderer. Loki had not been a monster, but he _had_ been a killer. It's not that I didn't feel that loss, somewhere in the back of my mind. He had amused me as much as he'd angered me, but I would not allow myself that pain. After all, I planned on killing him myself, if I'd gotten the chance.

But that didn't mean I wasn't feeling… _lonely_. It had been nice, living a normal life for a while, but there was no denying that I had been thrilled to have the supernatural enter my life. Loki had been the first 'creature' I spoke to. He had magic. He understood.

Secrets are slippery things. They're the cousins of lies. They can be the worst. They can be great. Sometime the only thing better than having a secret is having someone to share it with- and sometimes the only thing worse is having nobody to share it with. Most people go through life hoping that they're special. Loki and I _knew_ we were. It was a curse. It was a blessing. It was everything in between.

And now I was alone again.

I looked back on my year and a half of school. Had I ever not been alone? No.

I had always been a liar, and nothing had changed. I was now just a liar who didn't want to go to school. School was for people who wanted to live normal lives.

But a mirror had been held up.

'Look how silly you are'.

I would never be normal. And I now knew this;

I didn't _want_ to be.

It didn't take long to pack up my apartment, to shove all my clothes in a bag and drive away. I had barely existed in this life to begin with. It had been an act on the stage, a lie that was true. I had told myself a story so good that I'd believed it myself.

But a better liar had showed me the truth, and closed the curtains on my tale.

"Thank you, Loki."

My empty apartment gave no response.

* * *

"That was close." 'Loki' told his doppelganger. The doppelganger didn't reply. He just sat there, being dead. He wasn't talking about the Winchesters, of course. _They_ were absolute muscleheads. No. It was that creepy chick, Raz. He'd had the eerie feeling that her murder attempts were some sort of sick experiment(What a _psycho_!). Like she'd been learning more about him every time. "Jeez, can't get a word in edgewise with you here." He joked to his silent double. He was mostly glad to be rid of the strange little immortal. She annoyed him, with her clever questions and piercing green stare. Nobody likes being seen for what they are, and when she looked at him, he knew she saw a liar.

Loki flopped into the seat that Raz had occupied a few minutes before, unwrapping a chocolate bar. He could make them without the wrapper, somewhere in his mind he knew that, but they were tastier when treated like a present.

He had dealt closely with supernatural creatures before- he'd even had a swing with a few lovely goddesses. Sigyn had ended up being a bore, Kali had been too… destructive. Even his brief fling with Skadi had ended in an uncomfortable couple of days with serpent's venom. He was more powerful than most deities could even comprehend- but he was still susceptible to magic.

Vampires and Werewolves may be predators, but they had been human once. On some level they have a respect for humans, even as they brutally slaughter and eat them. Pagans on the other hand, were a vengeful lot. They fucked and fought and killed like no other creatures. To them, humans weren't anything but cattle. Scum. They never wondered why Loki did the things he did. They never asked him if he was 'sure' he was right- because to them, he _was_ right.

The point was that the pagans had never _questioned_ what he _was_. Not like the little… creature? Human? Whatever. Nothing had investigated him so closely before. So methodically. And he'd let her. By all rights he should have skipped town the second she surprised him with that stake to the heart. Better to let them believe him dead, then wonder why he wasn't. But, despite himself, he stayed. None of the previous humans had ever tried to _reason_ with him first- usually, they stabbed first, asked questions _never_. He found the attempt... aggravating. Aggravating enough to stick around and try to argue with her.

Back in the Viking days, he'd been _notorious_ for having to get the last word in.

All of this should have been a passing blip of insignificance on his radar... And yet... Whatever Raz was, she was human first, and she nearly got to the center of things. His job had been the execution of justice since time immemorial- but tricksters were more about irony than justice. The two could easily be misconstrued for the same thing, but _she_ had noticed the difference.

" _Yeah but you're also a **thing** with a freaky boner for justice." _

Too close to the truth. He hadn't been lying when he'd said justice wasn't his shtick. It wasn't. He had been running to escape _that_ life for _millenia_.

Because there wasn't going to be justice. Not for anyone.

He took a contemplative bite of his Snickers. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd abandoned a puppy, or something. There had been something childlike about the... Raz-creature's demeanor. The curiosity... the questions... It reminded him of a newborn, in a lot of ways.

"This really was the only way." He told himself. "Otherwise, I'd have had to kill her."


	11. Camoflauge

**A/N: First off, Gabriel is not dead. There is nothing the show writers could say that would make me believe he IS dead. It could come from LITERALLY GOD'S LIPS and I WOULD STILL NOT BELIEVE IT.**

 **A** _ **hem.**_

 **Sorry for the hiatus, I was getting my second plot arc in order.**

 **ACT II**

" _ **Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal."**_

 _ **\- Russell Lynes**_

Knowing what I know now, it's amazing to think that Sam and Dean's dad taught himself to hunt. It's a nearly impossible task to do- first you have to realize that not only is the first creature you encountered real, but so is everything else (but, I recently learned, not unicorns). Then you have to somehow learn to be a full-fledged hunter without dying somewhere along the way. On top of it all, in John's case, he was raising two boys. Since the beginning, when I first left Ohio (thank God), I've had a lot of occasion to question John Winchester's shitty parenting, but considering the circumstances, it's amazing that he managed what he did.

I really got a sense for this when the first guy on Dean's list ended up being dead. That had been three weeks ago. It was a month since I'd left home to set off on my own, and so far, all it was was a bunch of roadtripping. If this was all hunting was, I'd be furious. (newsflash: it was).

That had been in Pennsylvania- the second guy on his list. Jeffrey Donalson, was in New York.

The trees on the way to New York state are beautiful, and twisting. Roadtrips really teach you how much of America is still wild forest, completely untouched by man.

Which is why it was surprising when I felt a strangely familiar tug, right in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't like I was being drawn to something, more like a thought on the tip of my tongue. Like when you forget a word you use every day; totally maddening. I drove for a little while longer, before I realized it would annoy the shit out of me until I gave it my full attention, so I pulled over on the shoulder of the road. The road was empty and dark, and if we're being honest, just a little creepy.

"What the hell." I felt frustrated, the same way you do when you leave the house and you know you're forgetting something, but for the life of you cannot think of what it might be. My forehead felt good against the cool leather of the steering wheel, so I banged it there a couple more times.

I tried chasing the odd sensation in my mind, letting it take shape. At first it did nothing but increase the nagging sensation. Like a chinese finger trap, trying to find a thought requires you to leave it alone. So I changed strategies and just sat there, chilling in my car on a dark highway, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

The first thing to come was color. It was a light, airy green. I thought back to when I fought Loki in the science lab. He'd commanded me to stop, and there had been gold in his voice. I couldn't see the color, I couldn't smell, taste, or hear it- but something as real as the five senses I knew and loved had told me 'Gold', and in that moment I had listened.

Magic. I realized, sitting straighter in my seat. I'm feeling magic.

The second thing to come was a sense of… direction. Specifically, _left_.

"This is probably a terrible plan." I told myself, but got out of the car regardless. The woods loomed dark and foreboding ahead of me. It was practically a requirement of forests everywhere that they be totally freaky at night. Now that I knew what to look for, the feelings of 'green' and 'left' were stronger, more easy to feel. When you read a book, you can't taste food- your brain cannot focus on those two things at once. You don't notice you're not tasting, because your mind is elsewhere. Detecting magic is like that- you don't notice you're not doing it, but once you pay attention, it's like a whole other sense has become available to your brain. Like suddenly growing a magic nose.

The forest was difficult to navigate at night, but it was a whole lot less scary once I was in it. It had been entering that big wall of blackness that was the difficult first step.

'Forward' My magic nose told me, and so I plodded onwards.

When you can't see where you're going, and everything looks the same, time starts to make funny shapes in your head. I have no idea how long or how far I walked- I just know that as I did, the color of magic became more vivid in my mind. After who knows how many scratched knees and stubbed toes, the scenery finally started to change. Like a thinning crowd, the woods slowly retreated. The darkness was creeping backwards, letting the moon shine through. It took a moment to realize I was no longer in a thick forest and was in fact coming upon a clearing.

In the center of that clearing sat the Cabin. It deserved the capital 'C'. In every fairy tale involving woods, there's always a little cabin, sitting somewhere near the center of the enchanted forest. Usually, there's a witch inside, and this one seemed like it was no different. Turning on my magic sense had been difficult, but turning it off when confronted by this much power was even harder. It's like trying to ignore the smell of someone's cheap perfume hanging in the air.

The cabin really was exactly how you'd think a witch's cottage would look- it squatted low to the ground, and had two little red doors on either side of each window. The door was short and rounded, and its' chimney was just crooked enough to be whimsical instead of shabby. A garden surrounded it on all sides, if it could be called such. There were no ordered lines, or little fences to keep the rabbits off- just a horde of unchecked growth crowding the cabin and spreading out into the woods. The only way I knew it was actually cultivated flora and not just a bunch of weeds was by the glimmer of ' _green_ ' still swimming at the edges of my perception, and a little voice in the back of my mind saying ' _Someone has invested a lot of power into these plants_.'

That, and a few of them were purple, a couple of them were wiggling, and _were those_ _teeth!?_ I gulped, and mustered my courage. I was here, now, and my curiosity would not let me leave. Before you think 'oh, typical heroic instincts- she has to investigate the bad guy's lair!', let me explain- I wasn't interested who lived inside, or why they were here, or really anything sane like that.

I just wanted to know: _how the hell do you put magic in_ _ **plants**_?

So I picked through the (likely) carnivorous plants and knocked on the door.

* * *

Dame Killcutty was _not_ someone who expected visitors. She was not someone who made brews with 'eye of newt' at midnight, nor did she invite small children into her home for dinner. Her cottage was _not_ , in fact, made of gingerbread, and she was a vegetarian. She never walked the forest paths in the hopes of offering magical favors to heroes and punishing those who would scorn her ugly appearance (and she was pretty ugly). In fact, all Dame Killcutty wanted was to be left alone with her plants.

That's _not_ to say she wasn't a witch.

Esme Killcutty was _born_ a witch. She wasn't a natural at magic, oh no; she had spent all of her considerable years carefully studying what natural witches were born with and what 'borrower' witches sold their souls for. None the less, she was a born witch. There was nothing else she could have been.

In her youth, she'd been the quietly ugly girl, the one who everyone knew would become an old cat lady. That idea had dissipated quickly when cats started going missing from the trailer park in which she lived. Nobody ever pointed the finger at little Esme, but everyone knew that the odd little girl had something to do with it. The little vegetable patch she managed for her mother seemed to flourish in the oil-stained soil surrounding their mobile home, even as the grass turned brown everywhere else.

When her mother died, she vanished from the known world, and she had rarely interacted anyone since.

That is, of course, until a knocking came on her door. It couldn't have been the wind, Esme thought- even the wind knew not to bother her at these hours. Slowly, she hobbled over to her shelf to grab the kettle.

"It must be tea time." She murmured absently to herself.

* * *

It was the longest five minutes of my life, waiting for whoever lived inside to answer the door. Finally, there was a creak and the door cracked a little to reveal one of the most unfortunately ugly faces I'd ever seen. It looked like a pile of skin left out to dry crossed with a bulldog.

"Wheddyer want?"

I took a step back, not quite sure of how to answer that. I don't know what I expected my interaction with the Cabin's resident to go like, but it wasn't this.

"Uhhhh…."

The face did something weird, apparently thinking. The door cracked open to reveal its' owner- an old woman. She wore a clean brown dress, and over her head I could see that the Cabin was kept in apparent cleanliness as well. She glared up at me, which is quite the feat given that I'm pretty short, and backed away from the door.

"Get on in, then."

It took me more than a minute of standing on her doorstep staring at an empty doorway to realize she'd invited me inside. I crossed the threshold.

 _Thresholds are magically significant, and a place of great power for those who use them properly. To cross the threshold of a magic practitioner is a mistake._

Oh. Great. The intrusive thoughts again. And here I was starting to think I was going sane.

"I cooked up some tea." Grunted the old woman, plodding around her cabin. If she was a rosy-cheeked grandmother, I'd say she was 'bustling', but in this poor creature's case I would definitely have to leave it at 'plodding'.

"Er…. Okay."

What else could I say? 'Actually, miss, I am almost certain you're a witch, and while most people who go seeking witches want to gank them, I want to figure out how to feed plants magic… then possibly gank you.' I wandered over to her small kitchen table and took a seat. There was only one char. A steaming clay cup was put in front of me- it smelled foul. Still, not wanting to be rude, I took a sip.

I'm really, REALLY glad I'd eaten trash during my years as a hobo.

" _Oh_." I coughed politely to mask my gag. "What's in this?" She stared at me in blank disbelief as I took another sip. There was a long silence as I waited for her to answer while struggling to swallow my second gulp of her nasty ass tea. My stomach was starting to hurt.

"Poison." She responded, bluntly. I set the cup down, suddenly aware of the liquid warmth spreading through my veins. I knew the feeling- I was being healed.

"Oh." I did my best to look sick, but the only thing toxic left inside me was the nasty taste in my mouth. I let myself sag in the chair, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The best way to see what your enemy wants is to let them think they've won.

The strange old creature approached me now.

"I ent got no time for hunters." She groused, grabbing my cup from the table. "But my plants been hungry lately." She had a thick Louisiana accent. She turned her back on me to put the cup in her sink. I took that moment to stand on my feet and move to her couch. Shock and awe, baby, that's what does the trick.

When she turned to face me, my hands were behind my head and my feet were on the coffee table. We sat there, staring at each other for a good long while. Well, she stared at me. I kinda got sick of looking at her ugly mug and chose instead to look around her cabin.

"What are you?" She finally grunted, shuffling over to knock my feet off of her table. I rose an eyebrow and shrugged.

"Curious, not a hunter, and thinking you're one shitty host."

With that she gave a genuine cackle, and, ignoring the poisonous tea, it was the witchiest thing she'd done. Her laughter sounded like dry leaves.

"Like I'd tell you anything, kid." I smiled good naturedly along with her.

"Well, you can't kill me either, and I'm not leaving till I get some answers."

Her smile faded (thank god- it made her face-flaps take nasty shapes) and she glared at me for a second.

"Question for a question." She bargained.

"Deal."

"And you leave me alone."

"You got it, lady. Your tea _sucks_." Seemingly satisfied with that, she wandered over to the chair I'd recently been poisoned in and sat. After a moment she motioned for me to start. Inside, I was jumping with glee- finally someone else who could tell me about magic! On the outside, though, I kept my cool.

"How do you put magic in plants?"

The question seemed to startle her, and she looked like she wanted to ask me something, herself, but stopped herself. We'd made a deal- question for a question, and she was yet to answer mine.

"You feed them life."

"So that's why you wanted to feed me to them?" I asked,but she waggled one gnarled finger. Right. It was her turn.

"How could you tell there was magic in those plants?" She queried, her hideous face wrinkled in puzzlement.

"I could see it." I responded. Couldn't all magic practitioners see magic? Something about the fear in her face told me that no, not all practitioners could. Or maybe it was indigestion. With a face that… complex… it was hard to tell. My turn.

"How do you feed plants life?" I asked, hoping for a more elaborate answer this time. It took her a while to respond to this one- she looked like she was still absorbing my previous answer.

"Blood and magic. You say a spell over them. Different spells for different purposes."

This time I didn't bother asking another question, just waved my hand at her to go ahead.

"What does magic look like?" There was wonder in her tone, like child asking her parents when Santa was coming. There was also a hint of jealousy.

"Colors." I responded. "But not always ones that you can describe. How could I nama color that nobody has seen? Or describe it to you?" I shook my head. "But they are colors none the less."

She seemed satisfied with this, and settled back into her chair thoughtfully while I thought about how to ask my next question. This was the question that would decide what happened next, how the rest of my journey would proceed. I thought, for a moment, about the next name on Dean's list. I thought about getting up and leaving and returning to my car to go and find a hunter to train me.

Then I thought about the color of magic, and I knew right then and there that I had already decided.

 **"Will you teach me?"**


	12. Wish Youd Watch Me When I Get Too Witchy

**A/n: Sorry about the wait time, I was working on some corrections to Act I, and fleshing out the plot for Act II. Expect some changes to previous chapters in the next few weeks.**

* * *

 _This time, he was a carpenter. He lived in Scotland with his wife._

 _They had been fairly wealthy, and he had loved her well, but some days, he could see it in her eyes that she did not love him back. He did his best to ignore his doubts- she smiled, and laughed, and stared at him with loving eyes- but somewhere in his gut, he knew. Still, he was no less hurt when he walked in on her with another man- but he was devastated to see what the infernal couple had done to their child. The wicked dagger clanked to the ground, and he did nothing as they ran off into the night._

 _When the villagers found him, they assumed it was he who had done the deed- not the sweet young thing he'd brought home from the highlands. He had always been strange, prone to flights of fancy._

 _They called him 'witch'._

 _From the gallows, he stared up into the heavens, and the first thought that came to him since the sight of his daughter's corpse was also his last._

 _ **"**_ _ **Why have you abandoned me?"**_

* * *

If witches could be compared to any animal, it would definitely be cats. Some are okay, some are vicious, but all of them have a mile-wide mean streak, and _all_ of them are _totally batshit_. Dame Killcutty was the same. The first weird ass thing I noticed her doing was talking to her plants, which would have been okay if they didn't hiss and writhe whenever she did. It wasn't an absent minded thing, it was a full on conversation!

The second weird thing she did was hunt. Usually she brought home small animals, like rabbits and squirrels, but occasionally she snagged a deer. The first time she brought back a bundle of rabbits, I drooled a little at the thought of some tasty stew, but she took all of them out back and buried them with her plants.

After two days, she realized I wasn't going to leave just because I was being ignored. I could see an internal argument twisting in her lips- but eventually my side won out. After some hesitation (witches hate to share their secrets) she beckoned me over and showed me how she slit their throats over the loamy soil, how she sprinkled the blood around the plants- and the little 'cantrips' she said over them to get them to grow.

This was how I learned to garden like a witch- but all I cared about was the total waste of meat. We had celery soup for dinner.

"You know" I said one night, chewing broccoli. "It's sort of strange that you're a vegetarian."

"Hm?" The crone grunted back, noisily slurping at her soup. She was not a pretty eater.

"Well, you'd think that with how much you love plants, you wouldn't want to kill and eat them…"

She set her bowl down and stared blankly at me. She gave me that stare when I said something she thought to be unbelievably stupid. I apparently said stupid things a lot. After a while, she spoke.

"I feed the plants. The plants feed me."

And that was that.

* * *

Knowing what I know now about magic, I'd have to say that I didn't learn much from Dame Killcutty. Some spells, some herbology, and some potion making, but not much. But I did learn one thing that was very important: not all witches were out there killing humans. If I hadn't intruded on Dame Killcutty, she wouldn't have tried to kill me- I don't blame her. Her little cottage didn't have any roads going to it- if I were her, I'd have assumed I was a hunter, too!

When I finally left about a week later, she gave me a huge sack.

"Herbs." She grunted, in her usual rude tone. Then she waddled back into the Cabin.

"Not much for goodbyes, I see." The sack looked curiously lumpy. I decided that I wasn't yet brave enough to put my hand inside.

* * *

The next tingle of magic I felt was in Saratoga Springs, New York. It ended up being a ghost- but luckily, my reading had me prepared- there was rock salt in my trunk, andit didn't take long for me to find accelerant at the hardware store. What my reading DIDN'T prepare me for was getting my salt circle blown apart by a ghostly breeze. It killed me twice before I could find its bones and burn them.

After that, I made…. _arrangements_.

* * *

The next witch I found was not as obliging as Dame Killcutty, and had been killing people for a while. I didn't bother asking for her help- she made me vomit spiders. I HATE spiders.

Still, when all was said and done (and the bitch was dead), I _did_ find her grimoire.

"Ugh, is that human skin?" I retched, throwing it into the back beside my sack of herbs. Over the next few weeks of driving, I read through it. Most of it was stuff I wouldn't use, like gross spider-vomit curses… but I was starting to get an idea about how magic worked. It seemed to have rules of engagement, if you will.

 _"Spells are often about sacrifice: their ingredients are always costly to acquire, in varying ways."_ I read aloud, and wondered to myself as to why it sounded so familiar.

* * *

The third witch I found was a fortune teller. She didn't react well when I mentioned how I found her.

"You're a _witchfinder_!" She pushed away from the table and started backing away.

"Hey!" I joked "What about my fortune?"

"I ain't giving a fortune to no witchfinder!"

I leaned forward in my chair, curious.

"What's a witchfinder?"

But the room was empty, literally, empty. Every remotely personal item (including furniture) had vanished in the blink of an eye.

I guess she wasn't up for a palm reading.

* * *

And so the days passed- hunting became more of a hobby for me, slowly being shoved into the corner as I realized my true passion: collecting. I felt like a treasure hunter, catching the trails of magic and finding their centers. At first I was reckless, more interested to see what kinds of curses the 'black' witches would throw at me next. Then I noticed that each time I died, I stayed dead a little longer. I didn't really mind, in fact I barely noticed, until one day, after a particularly nasty child-eater caused my spine to twist itself to splinters, I woke up in the dark.

"Hello?" I wheezed, wondering why it was so cold. My voiced echoed, as though I were in the bathroom. I didn't bother reaching out to feel the sides around me- the way my breath reflected right back into my face told me enough about where I was.

It took me about ten deeply uncomfortable minutes to wiggle my way out of the morgue's 'meat drawer'. I found my things in the next room, labeled "Jane Doe; Personal Effects". When I got back to the motel, I noticed I'd been walking with a piece of paper tied around my big toe. I slipped it off. I squinted in the dim motel lighting. The date of death was three days ago.

It seemed that magic _could_ kill me, given enough time.

The thought that the next place I'd wake up in was the crematorium occurred. I had no idea what would happen to me if my body was totally destroyed… or if I'd wake up next time at all.

After that, I decided to play it more safe. After that, I started to feel true _fear_.

Still, that didn't stop me from pursuing my curiosity across the country, and back.

* * *

I was in Vermont, chowing down on some specialty cheeses after what Sam and Dean would call a "salt and burn". Boring old ghost stuff. Not a spark of magic save the lingering whiff of death that spirits seemed to drag behind them, like a fart that follows you out of the room. Still, it had given me a chance to try out my wind-proof salt circle.

A pink hula hoop, filled with rock salt.

It had worked, but the stupid old ghost had laughed at me.

"Ha ha" I grumbled, mouth full of cheese. At least I'd got the last laugh.

It was then, sitting at the little cafe with a mouthful of cheese, that I caught the scent of something new. Something _different._ I turned my head, but it was already gone. A man stood on one side of the street, looking puzzled as a car honked while speeding past. It looked like someone had pushed him. _Very_ strange.

Magic _never_ disappeared like that. Supernatural beings couldn't stop it- it wafted out behind them, leaving a glittering trail for any who knew how to look. Magic was like energy- it could neither be created nor destroyed. It came from somewhere, and it went somewhere else- magic users were just borrowing it for a while.

This spark- it had been just a blip- like static electricity zapping your finger.

The puzzle of it itched at me for about two days before I got over it.

* * *

The second time, I actually _saw_ the spark- I was in California, hunting a crazy Playgirl-turned-witch. She had been polishing off the competition, though I don't know why. Hugh Hefner is _gross_. Bobby had called it in- normally I wouldn't get caught _dead_ in Los Angeles- though I guess that doesn't mean much, given who I am. Still, while I'd never met the guy, I owed Mr. Singer a _lot_.

A little girl had lost her balloon- she was crying already, reaching for the string. She was too short, and it was going too fast- the typical childhood tragedy. Then it happened. _**Zap!**_ A little string of energy snapped between her groping hand and the balloon's tail, and suddenly it was in her hand. She squealed with joy, none the wiser.

"Huh." I muttered. This time I'd gotten a color from it.

 _White-gold_

Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , on this earth had magic that even _bordered_ on white. Dark colors weren't necessarily indicative of 'evil' or even 'darkness'- Dame Killcutty herself had broadcasted a bright spring green, and she was a mean old bag. Which is why it was unnerving to see white. Usually brightness meant _power-_ like any light- but it didn't mean 'good'. How could a spark so small and fleeting have a color that bright? Shouldn't it have been weaker colored?

After a week of looking for more of these sparks, I shelved it for another day.

* * *

"Honey, you're going to need to take a break." Said a kind voice from above me. I was panting too hard to respond immediately. My torso was splayed across the dirt, with my face lying nose down in the soil. My lower half was still in the hole I'd made while climbing out of my coffin. I spat out dirt, and moaned. Whoever had spoken gave a great sigh. Two hands slotted their way under my armpits and started to drag me out.

"RRrnghh…" I growled in protest of the grating sensation. They'd thrown _rocks_ into my hole. I felt vaguely insulted.

"Oh, hush." My tormentor chided "You and I both know it won't kill you."

I didn't have an intelligent reply for that one, so I went limp and allowed myself to be dragged the rest of the way. There was a pause as whoever had me caught their breath, and then I was heaved onto my back. The sunlight searing into my eyes after who knows how long in the dark finally ignited me into speech.

"Fuck." I grunted, struggling to cover my eyes.

"Tell me about it." Came the wry reply. I didn't bother trying to turn my head, knowing from experience that any post-mortem sudden movements might cause me to puke. The speaker made it easy by coming into my line of sight. What popped into my vision was a square, honest face. I couldn't tell much more, given that it was upside down.

"Hello." It greeted. "My name is Cassandra."

* * *

Cassandra had been hunting me for weeks, watching me. She was a witch-hunter. A hunter-witch. A witch who hunted. A hunter who witched.

She had caught my 'scent' somewhere out near Dallas, at around the same time a coven began to wreak havoc on the surrounding countryside. Cattle mutilations, blood sacrifices… it had clearly been ramping up to some seriously witchy stuff.

The way she told it, the coven's activity dropped off immediately, and then she caught my scent. She assumed I had turned on my coven and stolen their grimoires, or that a hunter had interfered with the coven and that I was the only survivor.

Whatever the case, she knew I had been involved and needed to be followed.

She watched me, unfailingly, for two weeks. I shudder to think about it. Not because it was creepy (and it was), but because I do really boring touristy stuff whenever I'm not on a hunt. Whoever this Cassandra was, she had the patience of a Komodo Dragon.

She had already made up her mind to kill me when she watched me go up the steps to what research had uncovered as another witch's house. I was clearly contacting other witches for nefarious purposes.

She crept to the house's front window to spy, see when we'd next meet and all that.

A few minutes later, and my corpse came crashing out, right over her head, but by then, she'd heard enough.

"Listen lady, you can kill me, or you can stop what you're doing, but I have to warn you, if you kill me, I'll just come back, and I won't be happy about it."

I remembered saying that, remembered staring down at the angry little psycho (Her name had been Amy- why are all Amys mousy little psychos?) staring up at me. She had been shorter than myself, which was quite a feat, and was way more sarcastic, which I'd thought nearly impossible. I realized my mistake right around the words "you can kill me" left my mouth. A few seconds later, and I was flying through the air, body writhing as a particularly nasty magical seizure squeezed the life out of me.

Amy hadn't believed me about coming back, but Cassandra had seen just enough in her life to go ahead and double check (after ganking the evil little bitch). She'd also heard enough of the conversation to realize I might not be a big bad witch, after all. It seemed a lot more like I was a reckless idiot, or just dead. So she'd come to my grave, and she had waited.

Needless to say, literally climbing out of my own grave was enough to make me start craving a vacation, and seeing someone come back from the dead was enough to make Cassandra itch to do some research.

I needed a vacation home, and Cassandra needed a lab rat. I was a chaotic, rude, and infuriating joker; she was a serious, bookish, and kind hunter-researcher. It was a match made in hell.

And that, folks, is the story of how I met my very first roommate.


	13. The ol' Bait and Switch

Cassandra and I didn't like each other. Not in the least.

For one thing, I was obsessed with cooking. It was a lot like making potions, except the ingredients were way easier to find, and the end result was delicious, as opposed to newt-ricious.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of curries, steaks, soups, and pastas- and that was just the dinners. The overwhelming aroma of vanilla overflowed the house on rainy days, and from the kitchen came cakes, tarts, and cookies.

I loved cooking- but I hated cleaning. As educated as I'd become, my heart still lived on the streets, and the streets cleaned themselves.

Cassandra hated messes, and she hated eating. I never in my life thought I'd meet someone who didn't like food- but I never in my life thought I'd meet someone like Cassandra. The woman ate like a bird- she drank coconut milk straight from the can, would munch on handfuls of raw nuts while on the road, and I once watched in horror as she ate a tablespoon of butter. ("Raw fat" she said. "Burns slower, makes it so I eat less.")

She hated me. Well, she hated me right up until she took a bite of my chocolate cake.

She didn't stop hating messes, but she learned to like me, and food, as long as I kept cooking it.

She liked to sing loudly, and badly, until the very early hours of the morning, usually while painting. She wasn't the best painter, but she loved to do it. Every time she showed anyone a painting, all she got was warm encouragement and praise. While she wasn't a good artist, she was a fantastic hunter, and nobody tells a hunter their painting sucks.

Her house was always filled with bad paintings and even shittier singing. I can't say that either of those were my pet peeve, but the combination started to grate on my nerves a bit. I like my sleep.

Well, that was until she started sharing her wine. I'd never been one to drink, mainly because there was no time for it at school, and no money for it when I was still playing people out of their hard earned cash.

Once she learned that I'd never had a drink, it was all downhill from there. Two weeks in, the kitchen was a constant mess, Cassandra had put on five pounds, all my clothes had at least one spot of paint on them, and we both went to karaoke night every Friday to scare the locals and generally make everyone else's life a living hell.

Cassandra and I didn't like each other at all.

We _loved_ each other.

It wasn't all fun and games, either. We were also doing our best to improve one another as much as we'd corrupted each other. She and I were both teaching each other more and more about magic. I did more of the teaching, to my surprise.

"You already know so much."

I gave her a sharp glance- we'd been pouring over a particularly hard spell. It resembled the spell I'd tried to use on Loki, but was clearly much more refined

"I'm not."

"Oh don't be so humble."

I shrugged, frustrated that I couldn't get across to her the sense of being a novice that I held. I knew more about magic than her, and could cast it more easily, which meant to her that I knew a lot about magic. What I'd been trying to communicate was that I only knew enough to realize how truly ignorant I was. The little corner of knowledge I'd carved out for myself was a speck in an ocean. The only thing that equaled that ocean was my thirst.

I always wanted to know more.

I guess that's where Cassandra and I differed. She was always wanting to cast more and more spells. I thought it was really fun, and loved to invent spells with her. Frivolous spells that were free from the power plays most spells contained. Faerie fire would occasionally line the couch or the corners, like dangerous looking LED strips. I'd crafted a cantrips to change channels on the TV.

But for me, the thrill was in discovery, for Cass, the excitement was in using.

She started bringing boxes home from when she went on witch hunts- magical supplies that satisfied my thirst, and allowed her to cast more and more spells. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I felt a niggling sense of caution- this all seemed too easy, too _fun_. The look in Cassandra's eyes when channeling power was a little off-putting, the heady smell of magic in the air just a little too intoxicating… but most of me didn't care as long as it could continue absorbing knowledge.

Together, we got better at magic than we'd ever been as individuals.

The first thing you need to know about magic is that you shouldn't use it for things you can do without it for. If you can find your keys without magic, then it's better to spend ten aggravated minutes looking, then to have them burn a permanent key-brand on your right ass cheek. That'll teach you for using a locator spell on something in your back pocket! Cass had trouble with that one, but I liked to pride myself on being practical. Also, I knew better than most:

Magic takes as much as it gives.

The second thing you need to know is that the more you cast, the more visible you become. Magic leaves a residue, like gunpowder found under the fingernails of murderers. That's why rule number one is so important- witches aren't the only casters out there.

"My friend Daniel got taken by something last year." Cassandra remarked once, quietly, over drinks.

"He'd been using too much, for too many things. Love, money… sweets. It wasn't a witch, and it didn't smell like a pagan… it was… something else."

"Demon?" I slurred, still convinced that demons were behind everything. I was pretty doubtful that they even existed at all, because that would bring up some very worrying philosophical questions. Still, if everyone was going to pretend they exist, why not blame them for everything?

I don't have my homework, monster- the demons got it!

"Not demons. Different."

I would have asked more, but her favorite Bob Marley song had come on. By the next morning, the conversation was completely overshadowed by a round of drinking and then a bar fight that broke out after someone may or may not have cheated at poker.

"They didn't catch me." I drunkenly grumbled as Cass and I supported each other's swaying journey home. "They were just sick of me losing all the time"

The third thing I knew, without a doubt, was that magic could kill me, and I was afraid of it.

"Raz, come on!" Cass had had about enough of me. "I need you on this hunt!"

Parents everywhere know this scene; a young child, refusing to go to school, and an exasperated family member trying to drag them out of the house before they strangle their charge. Except this time, it was two full grown women- a hunter, and a cowardly immortal.

I gave her a long, hard stare. One of my teachers called it 'the squid eyes', back in the early days of school.

"I don't want to." I crossed my arms.

She threw her arms up in the air, exasperated. She paced back and forth at the front door for a moment, thinking of any way to convince me- but there wasn't one.

I was trying to hide it, but the truth was that I was afraid. Most hunters who survive long term are the ones who have vengeance on their mind, at least to start. To them, revenge means they can't die, not until their anger dies. Some hunters keep on after that, because they know no other life, or because they can't turn their back on the people who don't know what lurks in the dark.

That wasn't what had motivated me. I had been driven by curiosity, not revenge or compassion. And now that my life was on the line, I was chickening out.

People use the word 'coward' like it's an insult, but humanity is all about cowardice. For you to exist, there had to be a long line of people who made sure they survived, stretching, unbroken, back through history. That's pretty impressive, that every ancestor managed to survive, ending in you.

And it was because they had a good dose of fear keeping them in line.

So of course Cass lost the argument, and the next one too. I could tell she thought less of me at first, resented it a little, but in the end she adjusted. Hunters are used to flying solo on their cases- and it wasn't like I was just sitting around. I was mission control- Kobra Kommander! The lore junkie.

At first I had to call Bobby for the tough ones, but eventually I got the hang of knowing what was "lore" and what was "crazy conspiracy theories". I even started being able to add new bits of lore in! I started keeping field notes- Cassandra called it a 'hunters journal' when she saw it, but when she showed me hers, I was kinda insulted that she thought they were the same. I may be a nut, but I keep my research neat and thorough. Cass' journal looked like an art project.

I was proud to add new information to the collective pool of hunting knowledge. That was really what I lived for. Over time, magic and learning had become my true passions- my months on the road had left me with basic offensive skills, but I quickly learned that if I was in a fight, my best bet would be to use my quick wits and my magical abilities. Even then, I'd probably end up dead. I am definitely not a fighter- not going to turn the tides of any battles and win me the admiration of any main characters anytime soon. But I could tell them some interesting facts and cast some hella cool spells!

And in a way, that was worrying. Magic was like a drug. Like taking adderall for a test.

It felt like cheating- but then again, I was cheating death every day.

Cass and I fell into a rhythm. I went back to my studious ways, and she hunted.

More and more bits of my old life were returning to me, not anything useful- just scraps of knowledge, here and there. Some of it was impossible knowledge. I learned one night, for example, that nobody had actually quite figured out the internal workings of a black hole- but for some reason my past self thought she had.

I could only conclude that she was both knowledgeable and highly arrogant, or just incredibly gullible. Either way, she clearly had no idea how tell what was fact and what was fiction. On top of the black hole thing, she thought that quantum entanglement was a simple idea, that the world was ending in the next ten years and that dolphins were sentient. Even worse, she believed in heaven and hell, which directly conflicted with my own, rather more practical beliefs. (I.e. evolution. Definitely a thing. Scientists call it a 'theory' because only idiots throw all their eggs in one basket. Come on people)

Bottom line is: whoever I had been before, she was really different from who I am now.

In short, my past self (did she still count as me?) was either confused, or totally pants-on-head crazy.

I tried not to let it trouble me, and did my best to focus on accumulating information, and man the phone when Cass was on a hunt.

"Something weird is going on."

I switched the cellphone to my other ear so I could could stir the cookie dough.

"How so?"

"They're all gone." It sounded like Cass was trying not to be heard. I stopped what I was doing.

"Who are? The witches?"

"Yeah, their lair was empty, food still on the table. At first I thought they caught my scent and ran, but there was blood...And I got this weird feeling- like pressure in an airplane. I feel spooked, I'm coming home." I could hear her car door slamming in the background. Something about what she'd said seemed to resonate with me, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

"That can't be the only thing that has you freaked. What aren't you telling me?"

There was a long pause, punctuated only by Cassandra's breathing and the sound of her pickup truck revving to life. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she spoke.

"They left a note, all blood splattered and shit. Like in a movie." She was still whispering, as though she thought whatever got the witches was still around. I walked into the living room and sat down, heart beating, even though I was safely inside.

"That's weird, who do you think it was for?"

"I'm not sure, I think it was a warning."

I shivered and glanced outside at the noonday sun- wondering why I felt so cold.

"What did it say, Cass?"

There was another hesitation, as though she wasn't sure if she wanted to tell me. I found it odd, since we knew a great deal about each other. It was almost as though she was frightened. Of me? Of my reaction? I couldn't tell- but it twisted my gut with foreboding.

"...It said ' _They can smell our magic_.'"


	14. Party At The Library

"They can smell our magic."

Horror flooded my system, but not at the words- not quite. I mean, sure, they were super ominous, right up there with "Drums in the deep. They are coming.". I mean, it triggered this secondary fear, one that was always hovering at my periphery- the simple question:

 _Am I a monster?_

But more terrifying than that was another question. It began with the fear in Cass' voice.

 _Does my only friend in the world think so too?_

I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking it too. It was what any hunter would think, given this situation. A bloodbath, and a note about 'smelling magic'? Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

So what does all this mean? Well, it could mean a lot of things. But what I would suspect is that it would mean I was lying about not knowing what I was. It would mean I was dangerous.

A wise man once said "Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.". Here was the darkness, where it had always been. Waiting patiently. Of course I couldn't make friends with hunters, because in the end, they'd always end up suspecting me of being a monster. Still, I tried to bridge the suddenly yawning chasm that I felt developing between us.

"Okay, Cass, I need you to get out of there ASAP… come home and we'll figure this out!"

"Sure, Raz." Her voice was shaky, and my heart sank. She wasn't coming. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

I didn't bother calling her out on the lie. Instead, I wordlessly acknowledged it.

"Stay safe, Cassandra." I sighed. There was no response, simply a click.

And then I sat. ? For a long time I sat, pondering on what I was going to do next. I didn't have a job, I was afraid of witches.

I couldn't blend into normal society- that much was clear by my failed attempts at college. So what?

The only thing I ever got really excited about was magic, and hunting. Subconsciously I had already made my decision, and in the end, it was an easy one to accept.

Everything I needed was in the house, silver, holy water- lore books. These were things Cass wouldn't come back for- not for a long time. A monster lived in her house, now- for all she knew, I was waiting for her to come home with murder on my mind, now that she'd 'discovered' my secret.

With a deep sigh, I stood up, stretching my sore muscles.

It was time to hunt.

My first hunt was not a witch- witches scared me, now. So I followed a fainter trail to a little seaside town in Louisiana. Men had been showing up in fishing nets. (No, not fishnets, though that would be sexy)A few drowned people wasn't that odd in Louisiana- you get drunk, you fall in, you don't come back up. A typical seaside/swamp hazard.

But these were sailors, and very strong swimmers.

This made things more complicated though. Sailors were itinerant workers; they had no connections in town. They had simply been on shore leave. I had like zero hacking skills- who the fuck was capable of hacking into a police database? That stuff had encryptions on encryptions.

Instead, I Googled how the police tracked drownings- it was complicated stuff.

I started with drawing up a map of where the bodies had been found- a cloud of dots, all representing corpses, gathered around where locals liked to fish. Then, I visited the library.

"Hey."

I murmured, startling one of the ladies on duty- she'd been balls deep in what looked like some kind of erotic fantasy novel. I smirked knowingly at her- what lady didn't enjoy a little erotic fiction every once and awhile? While she stuttered and blushed, the clerk next to her spoke up. I was startled to meet a pair of familiar eyes.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Uhm." I gulped- seeing only those molten gold eyes for a moment, before taking in the person talking. It was a strangely dressed woman- wearing the kind of clothes you'd see in a porn about a sexy librarian, and sporting the tits to match. Basically, the way a dude thought librarians looked if he had never stepped foot in a library. I tried to shake off the niggling feeling that magic was in the air- I couldn't see anything, or smell it.

 _Come on, Raz, the Trickster is dead- and it's not like other people don't have hazel eyes._

I gathered my wits about me and rubbed the back of my head in embarrassment.

"Haha, yeah, I was wondering if you guys had maps of the local water currents."

Sexy Librarian raised both of her eyebrows at that, and exchanged a glance with Porno Reader.

"Are you with the police, ma'am?"

I scowled.

"Do I have to be to see that map?"

Mrs. Librarian gave me a patronizing smile, as if I were a rebellious teenager trying to snark. My scowl deepened- how dare she challenge my snark!

Everyone knows my snark is the best snark.

"No. I was simply asking because the police were asking for the same thing."

She shoved on a pair of glasses and stood- her eyes never left mine.

"My name is Raven, please, come with me."

The library was rather small- we were in a rather rural part of Louisiana, so that wasn't very surprising. It didn't take long for us to get to the public records section, but as I walked, I started to think.

How patient was a Trickster, anyway?

An image flashed through my mind of the dead demigod who had started this whole journey. He had been leaning against a hallway wall, eating candy and watching the crowd. His eyes were watchful… calculating. Nothing like the persona he gave off.

How long could a Trickster sit in a theatre, playing dead?

A colourful bit of paper was thrust under my nose.

"Here."

I smiled up at Raven, suddenly all charm.

"Thanks, babe." I purred, taking a step towards her. Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Excused." I replied, grinning from ear to ear- right before punching her in the face.

I immediately knew I'd made a mistake when she fell back, looking stunned.

 _Idiot!_

"What the hell…" Her voice was shaky, as she scrambled backwards a little. "Please, lady, don't hurt me. I'm sorry!" She said it quietly- natural librarian instincts kicking in. Only whispering allowed in the library! I backed up, hands out in front of me.

"Ohmygod… I am _so_ sorry! I thought…" I realized I didn't have an explanation, and was probably about to have the cops called on me. "Uhhh… thanks for the map!" I blurted, already turning around to run.

As I passed the front desk in a panic, I failed to notice Porno Girl smirking, eyes glinting gold in the sunlight.

I threw myself into the hunt, trying to distract myself from the morning's embarrassment.

Of _course_ Loki was dead- I had felt his magic fade from the room. As far as I knew, nothing was good at hiding their magical trail like that. I felt like an idiot; worse- I'd felt hopeful for a moment. It's not that I liked the guy; we _really_ didn't mesh as far as worldviews went. But he _had_ been engaging like nobody else was, and I missed that. I missed battling with words, and trying to outsmart a better opponent. The only way to improve was against a smarter enemy- life was boring otherwise. Imagine not being able to die- it sort of takes the mickey out of adrenaline-inducing situations. I tried to shake off my disappointment and attend the matter at hand.

Mapping the currents in curving arrows over my pinned map, A pattern began to form. All the currents that had deposited the bodies in the fishing grounds led past a certain beach. Since it was the only likely place people would be hanging by the seaside unattended, it seemed like a good place to start. From earlier questioning, I knew it was the kind of private little beach that probably has seen a lot more naked bodies than any inanimate landmark should. Poor beach. Still, it made sense- one nights stands were the trade of all sailors. Hell, sailors were probably the most prolific spreaders of STDs in centuries past!

After a lot more research (this time online, since I'd likely be arrested if I ever showed up at that library again), I gave up. There had been no historical violent deaths at that particular beach, so that left out **n** ecks, nicors, nixies and nokken. They liked to stake out territories, and rarely left them.

Which meant I had to fly in blind. I wasn't particularly worried, of course- as long as magic wasn't involved my chances of staying perma-dead were slim. Still, it seemed like it'd probably take longer than I'd like.

The drive itself took long enough! Eventually the road stopped, and it took me ten minutes of climbing over the oceanside rocks to reach the tiny secluded beach.

It wasn't somewhere you'd expect multiple drownings to occur- white sands shimmered in the moonlight, and a gentle tide lapped the edge of the beach. There weren't any stones to catch your feet. It was the type of place I could imagine spending days at, and I suddenly understood why so many couples went here together. It was definitely worth the climb.

I did everything I could to avoid getting in the water- everything.

Remember Pirates of the Caribbean? Yeah, being immortal and stuck at the bottom of the ocean sounds awful, doesn't it?

But the beach was empty- no footprints, not even a skittering crab. What's more, there was no magic.

"Okay."

I paced for a moment, running my fingers through my hair. I stopped, dropped my hands, and squared my shoulders.

"Alright."

I started stripping. If I was going to drown tonight, I at least wanted to change into some dry clothes afterward. Once I was down to my underwear, I approached the water cautiously.

Pretty much nobody can agree on what is the best way to approach going for a skinny dip in ball-shrinkingly cold water. Do you go in slow, or fast? For me, I tried going in slow for a few steps, until something skittered over my foot.

My cry of "GYAH!" echoed around the little bay, followed by a loud splash. So much for going in slow.

And that was when the music started blasting.


	15. The Ocean Breathes Salty

**I didn't expect so many reviews so soon after posting a new chapter! it really made me realize that you guys like my stuff. I appreciate it, and I hope to start posting more frequently, now**!

The ocean is a spooky place. To so many it has always given out a deep sense of mystery, and awe. Not awe is the worshipful sense, awe as in deep terror. Imagine being alone, out in the ocean, with the knowledge that the dark blue sea stretched beneath your feet for miles. Anything could be down there.

But the ocean is also a lure, drawing you in, soothing you and hushing you like a mother trying to coax her child from underneath their bed. It's beautiful, and rich with life. It is all these things; terrible, fertile, soothing, and murderous.

Imagine if the ocean could sing.

There were no lyrics to the music echoing across the empty bay, just sibilant noises and deep echoing howls, and somewhere behind it all there was a melody. A call.

With the appearance of the music came a shift in the the dull mist of magic that floated over the bay. It condensed into waveforms- a kind of ambient spell. I'd never seen anything like it before, and to my sixth sense it was as bewitching as the music was to my ears. It was like a magical psychedelic trip.

I realized something was wrong when I started breathing water. When had I gotten so deep in the ocean? When had the beach gotten so far away? But the voice of my mother hushed me, swooshing in and out, like breath.

Her arms began to pull me down, down to be with her, and I went happily. Somewhere in there, at the back of my mind, there was an angry voice- but I didn't care. I was going home.

When the water came to my eyes, I ignored the stinging of salt to look down at my mother, my friend.

Surrounded by long waving arms of kelp was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. If you asked me to describe her now, all I would be able to tell you was 'really, really pretty'. It was like whatever she looked like wasn't being seen with my eyes, but with the part of my mind that determined what beauty _was._

" _Mom?"_ I tried to say, but only bubbles came out.

That's not right…

The music took me. My body convulsed and the water started to fill my throat- but it was ok. It was my home.

"Goodnight." Mother whispered, and I felt a touch, as soft as sea kelp, on my cheek.

Then nothing.

Have you ever woken up at night to a silence that feels as though the pause after someone speaks? Like a voice had spoken, but you just missed it.

A spark of gold in the blackness- a little wriggling line on the back of my eyes, like a heartbeat monitor. It was like the ocean song, but different. It was a voice, but it had no throat.

 _Wakey-wakey, hands off snakey!_

I opened my eyes and saw the world for what it was. There was no need for the monster to keep singing, now that she had her meal. Strands of kelp wrapped around my arms and legs, and when I jolted awake, they reflexively tightened. I strained to listen for the ocean's song, and then I swiveled my head as much as the kelp would allow, straining to see where the monster woman was.

Had it been a siren?

I strained my magical senses to their limit, but there was no strong magic in the area. A sighed out sea water (I was already dying again) and looked down.

The kelp- it was flooded with magic. It was as light as a flashlight on the aetherial plane! Nothing inanimate had that kind of magic. I passed out again, or rather, I died again.

 _Nap time is for babies_.

Again, I woke to a sound ( _a voice_ ) that never happened, hovering on the edge of my senses.

It couldn't have been a siren, sirens ate flesh- and the sailors had been (mostly) intact. So what had me? And what had it done to this kelp?

I struggled again, testing the strength of my bindings, and a cloud of red wafted up around us. Blood? I bowed my head to examine my slimy ropes more closely.

They were razor sharp!

So whatever this was drank blood. Well, there was plenty of blood here! So where was my captor?

My mind raced as my vision filled with spots. _Plants, blood, and song_.

I repeated over and over in my head, hoping for some synapse to fire and make a connection before I drowned again. It isn't painless- not like they say. The body spasms and gasps and you can't help but feel emotional desperation (even if you knew you weren't dying). It's an example of the psychological link you have to your body- just like how cutting a finger is a lot more upsetting than cutting a knee.

Basically, waterboarding is a dick move.

I tried struggling against the gross, slimy, kelpiness that was my cage and my killer.

Kelpiness.

That's a funny word.

And then I was out again.

 _Man, you_ _ **are**_ _slow_.

Another filament of gold seemed to dodge around my conscious thought. I came back with all cylinders firing, raring to go. There was no point on looking for my captor- my captor was already here. It was a kelpie, a magical plant! Just like the plants at Dame Killcutty's cabin- it fed off of blood and magic until it had a life of its own. Someone had to have made it, or it could be an invasive species- who knows how this weird botany shit works.

Point was, I could remember how to kill it. Probably.

No iron. No silver. What did the lore say?

Right. You could get it with religion. Why the fuck knows why- it's a plant. Maybe it's superstitious because Bibles are where trees go when they die.

I couldn't use my hands, I couldn't get out. I couldn't speak. So, what, was I supposed to wait for global warming and pollution to kill this stupid thing? Would I last that long.

My body began to hiccup sea water, and the lights went out again.

 _Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?_

Okay. So. That was definitely not my conscious. 'Sweetheart' was right up there with 'toots' on the Words I Do Not Use list.

Earlier, I had ignored the voice as an oxygen-deprived hallucination, or if not, as unimportant at the moment. Now, with nothing else to figure out about the kelpie, I turned my thoughts to whatever the voice I was 'hearing' could be. I wasn't hearing it with my ears, but I could 'see' it with my "magic nose". It was like a waveform. Whereas most spells cast had a very 'manmade' look to them, this spell looked more like what radio waves would look like if we could see them. Or something.

It reminded me of the kelpie's 'song'.

So there was a way of 'singing' or 'speaking' magically.

Which meant if I could figure it out, I could exorcise this leafy bitch.

Casting spells had so far required speaking, but maybe all that had been was 'focusing' the magic. I'd seen the magic take shape under my words, now all I had to do was not speak.

It took about eight tries and five deaths before I gave up. I could wordlessly shape magic, but I couldn't speak with it- all the while that _fucking voice_ was nagging me into consciousness after every death.

It took me two more deaths to realize (idiot) that whether or not I could nonverbally exorcise the kelpie was unimportant. I had just learned to cast spells without words.

 _Idiot, damn idiot!_

I kept insulting myself as I quickly crafted a spell so wicked it was practically shaped like a scythe. I was pissed. At the water, at the kelpie, at whoever was laughing in my mind's ear about all this shit. I was mad at my brain, too, because it was stupid and I wasn't sure of it was just making shit up or not.

When I finally let it loose, the kelpie lit on fire. Underwater fire. _That's_ how many fucks I gave in that moment.

I burst to the surface a while later, and frantically spazzed towards dry land.

 _Fuck you, head voice! You're next!_

I put all the exhaustion and fury I could muster into that thought, with myungs being too full of water to shout at the sky.

 _Good job._

Was the last thing I heard before I passed out on the beach. And despite my anger I smiled through my mouthful of bile, sand and salt- because I did it. I'd spoken without words.

Still, couldn't that have come a _little_ sooner?


	16. Greetings, Maggots

Greetings, maggots.

I have returned! Which means I have once more decided to rule over you as a cruel and capricious god.

However.

I need you. America needs you. Not really, but I still need you. I am recruiting minions to help me with my stories.

You see, I am great at beginnings, when the world is new and I'm still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But once it comes time for the middle, the meat of my hamburger, I get a little lost. Why can't I just get to the plot points I want? What is this character development thing? I have so many plot points, so much character development in mind, but for some reason I just can't get there. SO, I have an outline, I have the ideas, but I need help on the execution.

THEN THERE IS YOU! YOu may be a fellow writer, with lots of ideas for the story; or you may just be a lurker, who loves fanfiction and has an imagination.

Whoever you are, shoot me a message. I'm getting a team together. We're gonna do group messages or something and you're going to harass me about updating. It'll be great. I'll be annoying. And working hard sometimes. BUT WE'LL GET THERE TOGETHER!

So. Let's do this.

Message me, slaves.


End file.
